Middle Son
by Angelfirenze
Summary: He knew patience was a virtue that Angel had more than mastered, but it always bothered Gibbs to test it. Tony/Abby, now Kate/Ari. Mostly canon AtS/BtVS pairings with DEFINITE preference for BtVS S1-3, except for including Tara, Anya, and Wes/Lilah.
1. Prologue

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Angel belongs to everyone at Mutant Enemy. Gibbs, Damn, I didn't know how good we had it until Heel and Toe went about screwing up everything good about House…*sighs in utter dismay* Gibbs, et al. belong to Donald P. Bellisario and Co. who have figured out how not to drop the ball. I think they took lessons from Joss, David G., and Tim, myself…

**Summary:** He knew patience was a virtue that Angel had more than mastered, but it always bothered Gibbs to test it.

**Notes:** This will be my first story written for a Twisting the Hellmouth challenge and I'm very happy to say that I'm back in the swing of writing Jossverse fic again after such a long hiatus. All will be well now, I think. This is also my first NCIS fic and I hope I do it justice.

To specify, it's the Twisting Los Angeles Challenge where no BtVS characters are allowed. I thought I'd test my mettle writing an Angel fic that didn't involve Buffy -- a true challenge in itself, as I remain a die-hard shipper to this day. *chuckles*

**Rating: FR18**, just as a precaution. I seem inclined to darkness.

**Pairings:** Since no BtVS characters are allowed, I will only quantify the good ship, Tony/Abby at the moment. I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** 'Hung Out to Dry' seems an excellent episode to start off with, given that it's my favorite so far. Also, now that I've been cleansed of my former dislike for Tony, that should make it even easier. Regarding ANGEL, since 'Not Fade Away' faded to black, I want to remedy my irritation about that. *nods*

I know they don't sync up, canon-wise, but -- again -- rules can be bent and most should if not outright broken.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I am rather new to the fandom and trying to make my way through my first season DVDs so if you'll bear with me, I don't feel I can cover anything else while doing it justice. That said, enough nattering -- on to the story…

**Prologue**

Jethro stared upward as Billy Fuentes went about the business of properly breaking in a well-built tree house. He was vaguely aware of something akin to a smile pulling at his face, but the tingle in his gut that had started the previous night grew stronger with every passing moment wouldn't allow it to spread any further. Gibbs sighed and called upward, making his goodbye more audible than he wanted. The boy deserved it, he thought. After all, he knew perfectly well how it felt to lose a father, even if the mandate seemed more fluid in his case.

Gibbs turned to leave, his tools in their case where they belonged and back at his side. He would need to be at Dulles in less than a half-hour if he could manage it.

He knew patience was a virtue that Angel had more than mastered, but it always bothered Gibbs to test it. He knew, theoretically, that between Connor and Sam he'd probably been the best-behaved -- Gibbs snorted at that thought, quickening his stride. He'd started the engine before Billy's imaginative chatter truly dulled back to the faint hum he was accustomed to. He hadn't spent decades training himself to ignore extemporaneous noises for nothing, but he needed to concentrate now.

If he was going to be the help Angel needed him to be, he had to ignore the tingle that was growing into a proper slow-burn.

...TBC...


	2. History

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Angel belongs to everyone at Mutant Enemy. Damn, I didn't know how good we had it until Heel and Toe went about screwing up everything good about House…*sighs in utter dismay* Gibbs, et al. belong to Donald P. Bellisario and Co. who have figured out how not to drop the ball. I think they took lessons from Joss, David G., and Tim, myself…

**Summary:** Before long, he had every inch of the boy memorized.

**Notes:** This will be my first story written for a Twisting the Hellmouth challenge and I'm very happy to say that I'm back in the swing of writing Jossverse fic again after such a long hiatus. All will be well now, I think. This is also my first NCIS fic and I hope I do it justice.

To specify, it's the Twisting Los Angeles Challenge where no BtVS characters are allowed. I thought I'd test my mettle writing an Angel fic that didn't involve Buffy -- a true challenge in itself, as I remain a die-hard shipper to this day. *chuckles*

**Rating: FR18**, just as a precaution. I seem inclined to darkness.

**Pairings:** Since no BtVS characters are allowed, I will only quantify the good ship, Tony/Abby at the moment. I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** Further to the overall timelines of the story setting, mentions will be made of 'Are You Now or Have You Ever Been?'.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I'm tampering, slightly, Gibbs' likely year of birth for reasons you'll soon see.

Part I: Cemented History

**Stillwater, Pennsylvania - 1952**

He couldn't help feeling as though he could still feel the rough fiber of the rope around his neck every time he stopped to sleep. Angel had given up rubbing the corded tendons but even now, he wondered if should he have possessed a reflection, would he see burns marring his skin where they'd dangled him like so much...

Angel cursed to himself, yanking his collar tighter against the irritated skin. The blades of tall grass he stomped through shone with an unnatural glow -- something inside thought it was slightly amusing but the laughter wouldn't come forth. Every day, the rope burned his neck and her screams burned his ears. Every day was an exercise in counting the minutes until sunset when he'd join his fellow vermin and play at being a cannibal.

Cannibal.

He knew perfectly well that in the strictest sense, the term would never apply. Even when ravaged by the pull of the craving to feed, no vampire would ever succumb to making victims of their own. _Tainted_, was the term. The more vampiric blood one took in, the less it filled them. Even when mating -- now, there was another empty word -- the act was nothing more than an extension of foreplay, a claiming, a marking of territory.

He didn't know when he'd become so analytical.

Angel came to a stop in front of the barn he'd been striving for, the demon's constant caterwauling climbing to a full-blown roar. He flipped a switch, unlocked a box, and let it come forth for a moment. His tongue habitually flicking over his fangs, he ran his hands over the bulges in his coat, throwing out a chain and yanking the demon back into the box, feeling his _human_ features melt back into place.

It wouldn't do to scare her when they both knew she was going to die despite his efforts. He'd done as his instincts had told him -- he could hear her blood singing far faster than it should have been and heard her fevered moans as her hands and his had both caressed her belly.

_Kill her_, the demon had chanted, but he'd shoved it away once more and instead concentrated on the odd feeling that had been clinging to his skin -- the one that had brought him here to this place, to this ruin, and set him before this slip of a girl. She hadn't been able to tell him her name, her mind was so clouded, but he'd been able to read her _true name_ in every inch of her being.

Everything she could think was _misery, pain, a gaping hole swallowing her -- couldn't he pull her from it?_

In the end, all he could allow himself to do was ease her transition into death, wondering if his lack of a memory of pain from being sired was something Darla had done for her. He took her blood as her son was finally born.

He had held the infant in one arm, tying off the umbilical cord, letting his _core_ come forward again, and biting through it, licking the remaining wound so it would close over. It was the only thing he'd been able to afford the -- boy, his anatomy said. The child had quieted after a few moments, heedless of the scratch Angel's left fang had left near his new navel. Angel had gone on auto-pilot, then, finding a discarded piece of twine and tying off the remaining stump. It had fallen off a few days later, but he'd had no book to press it in.

Instead, he'd placed the boy wrapped in his coat carefully on the ground and scraped away the top layer of the meager grave he'd dug up, placing the scrap of flesh back where he felt it belonged. It was the only part of her son she'd ever see, after all. He couldn't rob her of that.

He allowed himself to hunt vagrants to feed, anything to lessen the demands of the demon, snide remarks about just the right size morsel to finish off Mommy's main course. He wouldn't allow them to wake beforehand. He knew their screaming would wake the boy.

He returned to the barn each night, to the rafters where he'd laid the child, and watched him suckling the bottle Angel had stolen from the closest rexall store he could find. The formula was thin and insubstantial, nothing like the mother's milk he should have been afforded, deserved -- Angel scratched open his wrist time and time again over days to let rivulets fall into the milk. He would watch the boy feed and ignore the twinge in his neck, ignore the screaming inside.

Before long, he had every inch of the boy memorized.

He had blue eyes and they drew Angel more than anything else. He wasn't sure why -- they weren't the same icy shade as Darla's had been, more a hoary-conflower blue, if that was an applicable term. He remembered strongly his father's oath that Liam would never be a good provider for anything other than his own lecherous will and the sob broke free before he could stop it.

It wouldn't do to name this boy after his father -- he needed a name, whatever reservations Angel steadfastly held about his own inadequacies, but he was damned again and again as nothing came to mind.

It was odd, then, that one long day two weeks later the name 'Jethro' would appear in his head, accompanied by Biblical verse he'd long since believed buried. He'd gone out of his way to defile religion once he'd been made, the Catholicism of his human life being first and foremost on his 'hit list', as it were. He looked at the sturdy, strangely still boy in his arms and swallowed, his voice still rough, before whispering "Jethro," to the little body before him.

Suddenly, he was babbling, unable to stay quiet now that he'd started -- he felt the demon recoil at his sudden bout of cheeriness -- and he gave the boy...Jethro a slightly hysterical smile.

"But that can't be your first name. People don't cling to the Bible nearly as much anymore -- it'd protect them from me, but since most of them don't believe I exist until I take their lives, why should -- would they know? You need a regular name, though -- something teachers can call you when you start school. But that's so long in the future -- well, long for you. I bet you can't wait to get older, just so you can take care of yourself instead of relying on me. I wouldn't trust me, either. I...I break everyone I try to care about and you're probably next. You'd better..."

He was crying then, he realized, as he gave a wet, congested cough and felt moisture on his face as his eyes began to burn so badly they clenched themselves shut. He pulled them open and bore the pain of watching the burden he'd placed on yet another set of undeserving shoulders.

"You'd b-better t-try to grow fast so you can be rid of me before I-I end you...It may not happen now, but i-it'll happen one day. I always destroy, it's what I'm known for -- you wouldn't know that. Scourge of Europe, they called me -- Terror of Mongolia...I suppose you'll learn about those places in school, but you won't learn about me. I'm not a part of history and I shouldn't be. I'm not fit for history and you'd be good to remember that. It'll save your life."

Angel wiped his face on his sleeve and moaned involuntarily when he realized he'd dripped tears all over Jethro's face and chest. He sobbed shortly, sniffing hard before he folded the cuff of his wornjacket into his sleeve and used the remaining fabric to clean his unworthiness off this wonderful boy.

"You need a regular name, something that won't get you booted all over your playgrounds. Leroy might work. At least you'd be able to put 'Leroy' on a school assignment once you can write."

Angel watched more tears he couldn't feel fall around _Leroy_ as he tried to nestle the baby into the crook of his arm so he could sleep. "You have to grow up first, I'll see to that -- but when you're done, you'd best leave me far behind. It's the only safe thing you can do."

Angel took several unneeded breaths and paused, realizing the demon had quieted for the first time since he'd let the Thesulac make its home in the souls he'd abandoned in Los Angeles. Angel was seized by a strange urge and placed a finger in Leroy's mouth, pulling back his lips. There in the tiny maw of pink were two canines, each barely the size of a pinhead.

Angel started roughly, sobbing again as he could hear the demon roaring with laughter inside.

He'd already done it -- he thought he'd have more time, but in his own perpetual idiocy, he'd miscalculated the amount of blood he'd allowed to drip into the formula he'd fed...his son.

The demon laughed even harder, wild with glee as Angel whipped his hand back and swiftly examined the boy for further signs of vampirism. Seeing no other alternative, Angel brought the demon forth and waited to see if Leroy's own face changed in what would be a natural reaction in fledgling vampires -- they couldn't control their faces.

Leroy's face didn't change and Angel breathed an involuntary sigh of relief as the demon scowled inside. He wouldn't -- couldn't leave the boy, he knew -- he needed to make sure Leroy didn't hurt any humans when he'd need to feed. He wouldn't subject the boy to rats -- that wouldn't be good for his growth, least of all his soul if he had one. He prayed for the first time since before he'd been changed, looking to the ceiling of the decrepit barn, and prayed that God would allow Leroy to have a conscience.

He prayed that his destructive streak might finally end, but all the same Angel wasn't holding his breath.

The demon laughed at a joke that wasn't funny -- right up there with his own name. He was rambling in his own head and knew he needed to feed.

He growled when he realized the demon was no longer suggesting making Leroy an entree and took care to hide his son before he went hunting.

...TBC...


	3. Compromise

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Angel belongs to everyone at Mutant Enemy. Damn, I didn't know how good we had it until Heel and Toe went about screwing up everything good about House...*sighs in utter dismay* Gibbs, et al. belong to Donald P. Bellisario and Co. who have figured out how not to drop the ball. I think they took lessons from Joss, David G., and Tim, myself...

**Summary:** He'd kill them both tomorrow. Right now, his head was too liquidated to plan how but as soon as he got an idea, he was going to make...

**Notes:** This will be my first story written for a Twisting the Hellmouth challenge and I'm very happy to say that I'm back in the swing of writing Jossverse fic again after such a long hiatus. All will be well now, I think. This is also my first NCIS fic and I hope I do it justice.

To specify, it's the Twisting Los Angeles Challenge where no BtVS characters are allowed. I thought I'd test my mettle writing an Angel fic that didn't involve Buffy -- a true challenge in itself, as I remain a die-hard shipper to this day. *chuckles*

**Rating: FR18**, just as a precaution. I seem inclined to darkness.

**Pairings:** Since no BtVS characters are allowed, I will only quantify the good ship Tony/Abby at the moment. I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** Further to the overall timelines of the story setting, mentions will be made of 'Origin' going forward.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers: Bold** equals ASL.

Part II: Shaky Middle Ground

Leroy was sitting upright, fast asleep, in a hard-backed airport terminal chair when Angel stumbled through the gate. His first-class ticket had pre-paid for -- all he'd heard for the past week was apologies and clamors of remorse. He never thought he'd see a day when he was apologized to and furthermore, wanted that person to please, for the sake of all the worlds and universes -- _shut up_.

Even Connor's foster parents, all of whom had likewise been evacuated from Los Angeles for their own safety, gave him long, concerned looks when he knew they assumed he was sleeping.

He wondered how he'd explain exactly what had happened to Leroy without allowing him to become suspicious of them first, then gave it up as a bad job -- if Leroy hadn't been suspicious of anyone, he'd be a completely different person and certainly not the man Angel had raised.

He couldn't help smiling through the bruises and broken bones that still marred his body -- he's gotten so many worried stares in the last four and a half hours, so many inquiries as to his condition that he was tempted to vamp out and scare everyone on the flight just to make it stop -- that he's ready never to have anyone care again.

Angel shook his head, remembering as the room began to spin that _that_ was still quite the stupid idea.

He started to topple over, but felt four strong hands steady him insteantly. Connor was behind him, his hands gripping Angel's shoulders as gently as he dared, and Leroy was in front of him -- all traces of sleep completely vanished as those eyes he'd never been able to come up with a proper description for bore into him with the force of one of the hammer his older son was probably still using to build that boat Angel didn't think he'd ever finish.

He called the boat Leroy's _journey_ inside his head, but wouldn't ever let the man he'd raised know that. If Leroy hadn't come to that conclusion already, then the project had been doomed from the start and he knew how much time and energy both his sons put into everything -- personal pursuits were no exception. Angel sighed and ignored the flight attendant asking in a plainly disturbed tone if he was alright.

He only had eyes for both his remaining boys at the moment.

***

Gibbs had glared Angel into surrendering his mangled frame to a wheelchair until he and his baby brother could get Angel home to Gibbs' house where they could put him to bed.

He could just _feel_ Connor's foster sister bursting to ask questions and eyed her through the rear-view mirror as her parents continued to get themselves settled behind her in the van he'd borrowed from work. Angel had told him her name was Kaitlin -- the slight shift in his inflection told Gibbs that his young aunt flashed in his father's mind whenever he saw her or even heard her voice -- her parents were Lawrence and Colleen Reilly.

Gibbs didn't really believe in coincidences -- Angel had once told him his grandfather's surname -- _Ó Raghallaigh_ in its original pre-Anglicized form, as well as his grandmother's being _Ó Flaithbheartaigh_, Angel's own surname according to...Gibbs took a deep breath.

Kaitlin Reilly was not Katherine O'Flaherty the same as Angel himself would never be the elder Connor O'Reilly. He didn't trouble himself wondering why Angel had named his younger brother after their grandfather; a few moments with the boy in a flaming anger and the connection was obvious.

For now, he pushed aside the superfluous thoughts that always seemed to invade his brain whenever he allowed himself to idle. It was one of the reasons he hated to sleep. There was too much time for..._time_ to make its presence known and his feelings of stasis intensified to such unbearable levels that he'd find himself heading to a butcher and asking for whatever was freshest. He didn't let Tony touch his soldering iron for more reasons than he cared to think about. Once a week, once a month -- the gaps didn't matter, he didn't feel them when the _craving_ finally made itself known.

Ducky had once told him that Starbucks executives had probably sent their children to college on his caffeine habit alone and gently attempted to wrest the cup away from him. The sorrow he'd caused, his remorse (Gibbs still hated himself for overreacting, for the loud growl that had shuddered through his throat before he could stop it) for the fright and ill-ease he'd put his best, his only true friend through in the space of one endless second.

Ducky had slowly retracted his arm, his hand clenching at his side as a deep blush had crept up both their faces and he'd never tried to _wean_ Gibbs off his 'coffee' ever again.

Gibbs swallowed thickly at the memory, managing not to frown as he shoved the thought away. He _did_ drink coffee, more than most _normal_ people could handle -- if he didn't, his daylight exhaustion would impede his ability to do his job, which was the only thing he truly had of permanence, though even that was a myth. His superiors could tire of him and his oddities any moment, shove the strands of his team to the furthest flung corners of the earth simply of their own whim.

Nothing was ever permanent, not even Angel.

Gibbs gripped the wheel and tried to pretend he didn't know she was watching him, trying to decide if he was as strong as her brother or their shared father, trying to decide how old he really was.

He dearly wished he had Angel's patience, but was equally glad he wasn't on par with Ducky's lack. He could put his ill-ease with these not-quite-strangers away for the time being.

Angel wanted them protected, so they would be. His home was large enough, empty enough. Most probably assumed this bothered him, including his team -- well, not Abby or Ducky, but they almost didn't count. They were the only people beside Angel or Connor who knew him at all.

He preferred it that way.

***

Angel groaned involuntarily again as Leroy and Connor settled him on Mallard's exam table and the young (to him, at least) pathologist tutted in sympathy. Carefully walking forward, Ducky allowed him to see the IV he plainly wanted to insert and asked quietly, "Would you care for any pain relief? I daresay, it won't harm you to have the entirety of my stock."

Angel smiled brokenly and stared up at the ceiling, unknown tears falling as he thought of Spike in Wolfram&Hart after Dana had 'relieved' him of his arms and they were re-attached. Even with the bleached hair, the sneer he'd tried to maintain, all Spike had seemed to him then was the same boy who'd followed Angelus like a puppy once.

They'd even talked of innocence if his expansive memory served him correctly. Angel sighed and closed his eyes, lifting a hand in acquiescence and subsequently sinking into what felt like a deep wading pool, his senses dulling to a murky jumble.

He could hear Ducky speaking to Leroy and Connor, could hear them respond in kind -- heard other voices, unrecognized and uncared for in this state of nothingness -- could technically _feel_ the scalpel bisecting his abdomen and Ducky's hiss, Leroy's hands banging something metallic, Connor swearing loudly...he could feel the parts of him being placed back where they belonged and anchored back into place.

He recalled the medical text Connor had read on the flight across the country, had peeked over his shoulder as best he could, and even expressed surprise and interest at remembering the engraved plates depicted on each page, the names and images still familiar even after all this time.

His mesenteries had been torn asunder, he'd been able to guess, by the way everything in his gut sloshed around like...something that sloshed. He didn't like that his brain felt like it was submerged in a barrel of water but he couldn't maintain the effort of being annoyed.

A long time later, Ducky finally moved on to other places, stitching shut the scratch (gash) over his right eye, gently shifting that eye to relieve the pressure that had built up within his skull and when that gambit had apparently failed, Ducky had shot him full of more wiggly-stillness and everything had gone black.

He'd awoken with Abby perched on the edge of the table, his sons no longer around him, and lines of stitches serrating his scalp where all his hair had been shorn off. He was too groggy to be annoyed and simply watched her smile.

Angel always wondered why Abby was so perky -- she probably didn't drink as much caffeine as Leroy did, her metabolism wasn't anything like his -- but when she signed to him now, her face softened and she leaned forward to kiss his threaded brow.

**Tony and Kate have been instructed to take Gibbs and Connor upstairs and ply them with distractions. Coffee, h-a-l-o-p-e-r-i-d-o-l -- that's a tranquilizer and so is e-t-o-r-p-h-i-n-e, which was also considered -- whatever they needed. It was either that or D-u-c-k-y would have to replace _all_ his cabinets instead of only the four they've already smashed. Good thing they were empty, huh?**

He watched her hands dance and was glad she finger-spelled some of it even though it still felt like a terrible mess. It seemed his jaw had been wired shut and would remain so for...whatever time. He noticed that at least one red bag was floating above his head and had a strong suspicion it was either Leroy's or Connor's blood. Probably both.

He'd kill them both tomorrow. Right now, his head was too liquidated to plan how but as soon as he got an idea, he was going to make...

***

Gibbs crushed his latest coffee cup and finally turned to face Kaitlin, who sat stiffly near her similarly named counterpart on his team, and tried to breathe past his discomfort. The young girl's eyes kept darting toward Kate, who had definitely noticed she was being kept out of some sort of loop. She was smart enough to keep her mouth shut, but Gibbs could tell plain as day that she didn't appreciate being ignorant in comparison to a thirteen-year-old.

_Tough shit_, Gibbs thought irritably and turned to grip the counter as tightly as he could without damaging the formica paneling.

He felt like snarling again, wanted to rip the entire counter top, microwave and everything else, and hurl it through the window. But he had to control himself, he knew. It was bad enough that he could feel his fangs trying to emerge and had to fight the urge with every ounce of strength he didn't want to have.

He had a funny feeling he wouldn't scare the girl nearly as much as his newest agent. Without wanting to, Gibbs finally felt a slight smile come forth and breathed again, pulling his face straight and feeling his fangs recede fully.

He decided to focus on the fact that his baby brother was currently at Tony's apartment complex fiddling around with the boiler that had blown earlier in the month. He wondered if Tony's landlord was going to try to press charges or _pay_ Connor for fixing it. As it was, if Connor ended up in the brig, he knew Angel might just leave him there once he realized they'd both given him their blood.

Gibbs was going to make sure he was entirely out of reach on the other side of the room, but he knew he didn't want to deny Angel the right to be angry. It simply saddened him -- saddened them both terribly -- that they'd sooner accept Spike's blood than theirs because he was convinced he'd only hurt them.

All there was left was to find out once Angel fully regained consciousness.

The fireworks would probably make for one hell of a show -- if his impressive memory served, there would be yelling and Irish and possibly smacks -- even punches.

Gibbs couldn't begrudge him any of it.

...TBC...

!-- /* Font Definitions */ font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1107304683 0 0 159 0;} font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ , , {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:9.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-size:9.0pt; mso-ansi-font-size:9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:9.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt;} page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} 1 {page:Section1;} -- He'd awoken with Abby perched on the edge of the table, his sons no longer around him, and lines of stitches in serration on his scalp where all his hair had been shorn off. He was too groggy to be annoyed and simply watched her smile.


	4. Catch Up

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Angel belongs to everyone at Mutant Enemy. Damn, I didn't know how good we had it until Heel and Toe went about screwing up everything good about House...*sighs in utter dismay* Gibbs, et al. belong to Donald P. Bellisario and Co. who have figured out how not to drop the ball. I think they took lessons from Joss, David G., and Tim, myself...

**Summary:** "Boss," Tony tried without success not to whimper, ducking away from Gibbs and spinning to face him. "When he volunteered to fix my boiler, I didn't know it was because he'd _built a bomb_ and -- "

**Notes:** This will be my first story written for a Twisting the Hellmouth challenge and I'm very happy to say that I'm back in the swing of writing Jossverse fic again after such a long hiatus. All will be well now, I think. This is also my first NCIS fic and I hope I do it justice.

To specify, it's the Twisting Los Angeles Challenge where no BtVS characters are allowed. I thought I'd test my mettle writing an Angel fic that didn't involve Buffy -- a true challenge in itself, as I remain a die-hard shipper to this day. *chuckles*

**Rating: FR18**, just as a precaution. I seem inclined to darkness.

**Pairings:** Since no BtVS characters are allowed, I will only quantify the good ship Tony/Abby at the moment. I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** Further to the overall timelines of the story setting, mentions will be made of ANGEL, season four, and 5.18, 'Origin' going forward.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** This chapter will be pretty ANGEL canon-heavy. If you were able to peel your eyes away from the thirty-car pileup of angst that was season four, then you may miss things. To quote Dave Chappelle, "I was disgusted...but I couldn't look away..."

**Notes"** Anyone who's seen the 'Serenity' episode of Firefly remembers how Kaylee simply had in-born intuition for engineering reminiscent of Savant syndrome. Well, so far, we've only seen the violent sides of Connor's gifts. I want to change that. I'll be elaborating on what I start here.

Part III: Playing Catch-Up

"This kid scares me," Tony declared quickly as he rushed out of the elevator, an annoyed and sullen-looking Connor rolling his eyes behind Tony's back. Gibbs felt his hackles rise slightly and shot Tony a needle-sharp glare that shut him up instantly.

"Oh, come on, Tony," Kate smirked, giving Connor's thin, compact frame a quick once-over. "I'm sure in a fair fight, you could take him. Of course, you'd have to stick around long enough to fight him, I guess..."

Connor resisted the urge to glare at Kate and abruptly turned around, stalking back into the elevator and pressing the 'down' button. As the doors closed, though, both Kate and Tony found themselves on the receiving end of a glare so cold, it made Gibbs' earlier warning look like nothing.

"I..." Tony stuttered, flinching when Gibbs leaned over his shoulder and whispered, "Should shut up now, DiNozzo."

"Boss," Tony tried without success not to whimper, ducking away from Gibbs and spinning to face him. "When he volunteered to fix my boiler, I didn't know it was because he'd _built a bomb_ and -- "

Gibbs slammed a hand down on Tony's desk, his face hard and taunting. "DiNozzo. Are you _quite_ sure you want to keep goin'?"

"No, boss," Tony acquiesced, suppressing the urge to shudder.

"Wait," Kate said nervously, coming to stand next to Gibbs and give him a disbelievingly curious look. "What do you mean he -- "

"Does this _look_ like the town forum?" Gibbs asked quietly, glaring at her now and Kate backed down, biting her lip. "Because I can give you directions to the Capital Building if you two've forgotten them..."

"No, Gibbs," she whispered, her eyes averted.

Gibbs then about-faced and stalked over to the elevator Connor had just ferried, disappearing before either of them could think of anything to say.

Kate turned to Tony, her eyes widening, "He told you he built a bomb? W-why?"

Tony suppressed another shudder, remembering the deadened look that had momentarily entered the younger man's face as he stated simple facts. "He didn't say. He just said he'd been tired at the time. I...I don't know what that's supposed to mean. But -- but when he was -- "

Tony started abruptly and started pacing, flinging his hands up, "Abby'll love 'im," he announced, unable to comprehend what he was even saying. "He was messing around with the parts, you know -- I thought he was just looking at the new stuff my landlord had ordered for the maintanence crew that was supposed to come. He -- Connor, he just looked at it, seemed like he was thinking about it a bit, and tossed a couple of the parts back toward their packaging, saying they didn't need all of it -- just some bolts had been stripped, um, a coil was worn. He replaced that, but the bolts -- "

Tony's eyes widened again, "He just fitted them back on and gave them a bit of a _squeeze_. Then he went to the -- well, hell, I don't know what it was, he switched something and some other things around and then asked the super to turn the water and stuff back on -- Kate, an eighteen-year-old is responsible for my hot water! My landlord paid him the difference in what he was going to give the crew! Asked him if he was willing to contract!"

Kate was astonished, glancing quickly toward the elevator bank before walking up to Tony and whispering, "Did he take it?"

Tony shook his head, "No. He said he needed to take care of his and...he says that Angel guy is his dad and Gibbs', too!"

Kate narrowed her eyes, "No," she said slowly, turning to watch the Reilly parents talking to one another in the conference room while their younger daughter slept on one of the couches. "Angel's not even their age and _they_ are Connor's parents. She's his sister. Angel came here all banged up to hell, but Gibbs wouldn't hospitalize him -- maybe the kid got caught in it and he's got a concussion. Maybe Gibbs'll ask Ducky to look at him once he's finished with Angel."

"What kind of a name for a guy is 'Angel'?" Tony asked randomly and they both continued to stare at the elevator bank in silence as Kate didn't answer.

***

Gibbs stood at parade rest next to Connor, both of them watching Angel as he tried his best to glare at them from his prone position on Ducky's examination table. Gibbs noticed that his chest was still. That their father wasn't even pretending to breathe right now meant he was even more injured than he'd probably thought. Gibbs felt his arms burn where they were folded behind his back and waited for Angel to speak.

"Don't ever do this again, e-either of you," Angel coughed, bringing up a trickle of blood from his punctured left lung. Ducky had wanted to intubate him, but it wouldn't have made sense as Angel didn't need to breathe. Appearances didn't matter down here in this basement and certainly not right now.

"So, what, we're just supposed to let you -- " Connor bit out, but Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Connor shrugged Gibbs' hand away and stalked up to the table, gripping the edges and frowning down at Angel.

"Dr. Mallard said you'd lost all your blood volume, Dad. _All_ of it. You've been bleeding internally this whole time -- he said your organs were in so many shreds, you were running _only_ on adrenaline and _where_, precisely, were we supposed to get blood potent enough to help you? You told me the Circle of the Black Thorn killed Wesley and Gunn's still in L.A. trying to figure out how to fight with only one eye. You know who else called, Dad, while you were unconscious? Kate? She's driving down from Upstate New York because she found out you were here after everything at home ended. And she would have given you blood, too. She said she owed you one."

Angel groaned, a growl rumbling through him as he tried to look away from Connor's eyes but his youngest son followed him. Didn't allow him to hide in his shame.

"Why the hell do you think you're so worthless?" Gibbs asked now, trying to keep his breathing even as he walked up to join Connor.

Angel looked up at the ceiling, blinking blearily. A tear traced down the side of his bruised and swollen face.

"Why do you think we shouldn't love you?" Gibbs asked quietly, taking advantage of Angel's inability to move to grasp his fractured hand as gently as he could.

"Because...e-everything I touch turns t-to ashes. I...left you both so alone -- "

"You thought you needed to get away from me before you got me killed," Gibbs scoffed angrily, remembering oft-repeated warnings from Angel that Gibbs needed to hate him to survive. He'd never been able to do it, had felt ashamed at first -- he only figured it out that night Angel had come home half-mad with grief. He'd killed a store clerk, he'd insisted.

_"Jethro, you need to get the hell away from me before I kill you, too..."_

Angel had stormed, throwing the young man's things into the trunk he'd bought when they lived in Brazil for a few years when Leroy had been very young. At the time, Angel had insisted he needed the winter sunlight to grow well enough. He didn't have very many memories of that early period, but he remembered feeling loved.

He remembered Angel's terror the night he'd been forced to leave, how Angel had gone so far as to bear his fangs at Jethro and bring his true face completely forward. Gibbs remembered the way his own eyes had flashed a sharper shade of blue and cutting his lip on his own fangs. He done as Angel had ordered, but he'd refused to throw him away. Everyone else had, he knew, once they found out who he really was.

_Warped_, was the term.

Gibbs had inwardly sworn to Angel as well as himself that he would never do so, himself, no matter what Angel said or did.

Gibbs shook his head roughly, smacking the table in frustration and turning abruptly to Connor. "Angel made me the man I am, what'd he do for you?"

Angel's hollow, shattered laugh then tore at Gibbs' heart, but Gibbs wouldn't allow Angel's instability to distract either of them.

"He -- " Connor started, but Angel interrupted, his words a flat monotone.

"'You tried to love me or at least I think you did. Stop saying that. Don't say you're sorry. It doesn't fix anything. No, no -- you just weren't there before. You le-let him get me, Dad. You let him get me...'"

Connor fell to his knees, shoving his hands through his hair before standing again and leaning as closely to Angel as he could, himself. "I asked you if you loved me and if you did to prove it and what did you do?" he asked quietly, tears sliding down his face once more.

"I ki -- "

"What. Did. You. Do?" Connor asked sharply, keeping his face as blank as possible through the haze of tears that blinded him and continually splattered on Angel's mangled face.

"I forgot I was your father instead of a jilted lover and then I slit your throat," Angel snapped, his voice a rough rasp.

"You tried to protect me from your dark side and then took me away from all the pain I couldn't escape on my own," Connor corrected, his face stormy before he forced a smile. "You let the Reillys give back what Holtz took away: my sanity. My ability to know what love really was. You let them take care of me and in return you let Wolfram and Hart use you as they wanted, not for money -- not for power. For me. You think I was just going to let you walk away from that empty-handed?"

Angel didn't answer, his eyes boring into the ceiling even as more tears fell. Connor could see that one of his pupils was blown, the other eye was slowly draining of blood.

"Anyone else would have died, sacrificing what you have not only for us but for people you've never even met and never will. If you want me to list those of us who feel indebted to you, I will -- "

"Of course not!" Angel snapped hoarsely, his voice still marginally louder than a whisper.

"Well, if you don't want to be thanked, that's fine, but do not expect us not to love you," Gibbs said then, his hand coming to rest over Angel's still chest. The bandages felt soft, but rough -- he could sense each individual thread under his fingertips. "We're not here to make any deals, Pop," Gibbs said, causing Angel to startle again.

Gibbs hadn't called him that in more than two decades.

"You -- "

"Are taking you home so you can actually sleep," Gibbs stated simply.

Angel stared and Gibbs wanted to roll his eyes, but wouldn't. "We love you, sir. Now, get the hell over it."

Beside him, Connor laughed.

...TBC...


	5. Siblings

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Angel belongs to everyone at Mutant Enemy. Damn, I didn't know how good we had it until Heel and Toe went about screwing up everything good about House...*sighs in utter dismay* Gibbs, et al. belong to Donald P. Bellisario and Co. who have figured out how not to drop the ball. I think they took lessons from Joss, David G., and Tim, myself...

**Summary:** Connor smiled fully, then, remembering that Earth hadn't felt so bad at all at the time. "I think...I think it was being back with him after so long. I felt like I was at...at _home_, you know?"

Gibbs nodded. Connor didn't need to explain. He got that feeling as soon as Angel had stepped off that airplane and that was only _this_ time.

**Notes:** This will be my first story written for a Twisting the Hellmouth challenge and I'm very happy to say that I'm back in the swing of writing Jossverse fic again after such a long hiatus. All will be well now, I think. This is also my first NCIS fic and I hope I do it justice.

To specify, it's the Twisting Los Angeles Challenge where no BtVS characters are allowed. I thought I'd test my mettle writing an Angel fic that didn't involve Buffy -- a true challenge in itself, as I remain a die-hard shipper to this day. *chuckles*

**Rating: FR18**, just as a precaution. I seem inclined to darkness.

**Pairings:** Since no BtVS characters are allowed, I will only quantify the good ship Tony/Abby at the moment. I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** Further to the overall timelines of the story setting, mentions will be made of ANGEL, season four, and 5.18, 'Origin' going forward. Also, further to my being completely annoyed by the sudden age-jump from sixteen to legal between seasons three and four, Connor is officially now seventeen and some-months for this story. That always bothered the crap out of me.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I should say the next several chapters will be pretty ANGEL canon-heavy, including one of the books, Fearless, which is my favorite and takes place in season three before Connor was taken to Quor'Toth. If you were able to peel your eyes away from the thirty-car pileup of angst that was season four, then you may miss things. To quote Dave Chappelle, "I was disgusted...but I couldn't look away..."

Part IV: Discussion Between Brothers of Sisters and Others

Connor listened to Angel's unconscious sigh as he and his brother arranged their father's battered body on Gibbs' bed before pulling the covers up.

He wanted to remind Angel that Ducky thought it was best that he not move very much for the next few days, but Angel was already deeply asleep by the time they both backed away. Connor sighed and turned back to the doorway where his foster parents stood gazing forlornly down at Angel's heavily bandaged and bruised body. Before he could say anything, his sister Kaitlyn walked up and enveloped him in a fierce hug.

"He'll be okay, Connor," she whispered, her eyes gazing up at Gibbs and a small smile coming to her face. "Remember, Mom says when we're sick we have to give ourselves time."

Connor chuckled, then, remembering even in the false past Cyvus Vail's spell had given him how much trouble he was at following that directive. He let Kaitlyn take his hand and together they all walked out of Gibbs' bedroom and back downstairs where Agents Todd and DiNozzo were waiting. Dr. Mallard was handling an autopsy for another team at the moment but promised to check in later on.

Gibbs sat down at his kitchen table, followed by Connor, Kaitlyn, and their parents. Agents DiNozzo and Todd stayed near the exits, Connor noted, and wished he had his laptop to distract him from their stares even if it was only to do some coursework.

"Connor," his mother asked him, laying a hand on his and gaining his attention. "Angel will be fine, sweetheart. For now, you need to eat something -- " Colleen glanced at Gibbs. "You and Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, both."

Gibbs snorted slightly, a bit of a grin coming to his face, "Connor, how do you like your steak -- rare or _rare_?"

Connor rolled his eyes, "You mean is it still lowing when it reaches my plate? How do I like my _blood_?" Gibbs shot him a sardonic grin. Yeah.

There was a crashing noise and everyone turned back to see a wide-eyed Agent Todd helping Agent DiNozzo back up off the floor.

"WHAT?" he exclaimed, holding the back of his head and staring back and forth between Gibbs, Connor, and the Reillys. "WHAT?"

Connor scowled and sighed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Gibbs. He had to ignore the agents or he'd never have any peace. It was all he still wanted, he found.

"I've never wanted blood. I...Fred told me once that when I was little, Angel would flash his game face at me and it would make me laugh. I guess it explains some stuff that happened in Quor'Toth and when I got back through the tear I made the Sluks show me. We were in this building -- I'd made a friend when I saved her from a drug dealer who was going to hurt her somehow and...anyway, later that night, she died and Angel tracked me down. He tried to get me to listen to him but I wanted to go after..."

Connor frowned, "I don't even remember his name right now -- sometimes I dream stuff and it's hard to piece together -- being lost in the mall when I was four, hunting Bar'rol beasts for dinner. Sunny -- that was her name. She'd asked me what I did for fun and I told her I hunted. When I got here, I killed an adult Sluk that had followed me. One of them had infected Fred and they found a whole pool full of them in the hotel we used to live in. Wesley told her how to kill them the Earth way -- alcohol dries them out and they shrivel up. But I just cut their heads off, you know?"

He was rambling now, he knew, but Gibbs was watching him intently. His brother understood.

"Did Angel teach you how to fight or anything?"

Gibbs chuckled, "He taught me Tai'Chi, but I don't have the flexibility for it anymore. I actually _age_, after all..."

Connor laughed, then, and Gibbs grinned back. "I've fought with Dad, plenty -- the second night I was here, he took me out hunting. We killed a club full of vampires and then we were in this alley behind it and just goofing around, he feinted at me and stuff. He said I'm good. Great, actually."

Connor smiled fully, then, remembering that Earth hadn't felt so bad at all at the time. "I think...I think it was being back with him after so long. I felt like I was at...at _home_, you know?"

Gibbs nodded. Connor didn't need to explain. He got that feeling as soon as Angel had stepped off that airplane and that was only _this_ time.

"But when I first found him, all I wanted to do was kill him -- Holtz had..." Connor bit his lip, his eyes clenching shut. "I thought I owed it to him. He'd said he'd loved me as he'd never loved his first family..."

Then Connor gave a slightly manic laugh and scowled, "Well, no -- I guess he'd never had to tie his first children up and make them track him down. He'd never taken _them_ to Hell. Not while my other sister was mortal, anyway. My...my birth mother Sired her while Angelus killed my other brother, Daniel's first son -- Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I have so much family, I can't even keep count."

Gibbs felt his mouth turn up in a quirk, "I know. You don't even know about Penn or James and Elizabeth or Sam. You only met William -- you know him as 'Spike' -- this year, right?"

Connor nodded, remembering when Illyria stood on his head and said she wanted to keep him as a pet.

"Our older brother Sam's dead now -- Pop staked him a little while before you got your memories back, but Drusilla's still out there somewhere. I could tell when Angel had dreamt about something she'd done. He was...just different, all those nights."

Connor could only nod, resisting the urge to gauge the reactions of everyone around him. He could hear Agent DiNozzo sliding back down to the floor, though.

"Did Dad ever tell you about our human family -- I mean, his parents and sister and -- " Connor paused. "I know vampires don't really practice monogamy, but...how'd you get here? Apparently, I'm the result of trials Angel undertook to try and save my birth mother's life when she was mortal and dying, but she'd used up her chance. Then she..."

Connor frowned, gripping the table so hard his fingernails indented the wood. Gibbs shook his head. He'd re-sand it later.

"She gave up her life to save me and then came back to this plane to try to warn me about Cordelia -- well, it wasn't really Cordelia. Cordelia had been like an aunt to me when I was a baby. Like Fred and how Lorne, Gunn, and Wesley were my -- our uncles. I remember Dad saying something once about Uncle Wes loving me _bunches, he's...just British..._"

Gibbs and Connor both grinned then, knowing that Ducky was nothing like Wesley, really.

Connor's face fell again. "Wes took me that night. He wasn't going to come back because of that fake prophecy Sah'Jahn wrote that said Dad was going to kill me -- hell, it could have meant you, now that I think about it, but since that's all been cleared up and I cut off Sah'Jahn's head, I guess we know who it was referring to. Anyway, Wesley was trying to save me from what he couldn't disprove. I guess that was his mistake..."

Gibbs nodded, remembering feeling Angel's rage even thousands of miles away. "No damned prophecy was going to make Pop do anything he didn't want -- that's what they don't tell Watchers -- that prophecies are fluid. They only come true because people believe in them so much. If Wesley hadn't let his fear cloud his judgment, he would have remembered that short of removing Pop's soul, there was no way he was going to hurt you, just like he'll never hurt me or anyone else except in self-defense. But he was Pop's best friend -- he had to try and save you both. He even saved Pop from Justine...of course, Wes kept her chained up in a closet until he did."

Connor nodded, frowning, before he perked up. "Faith told me that she went into Dad's mind once, when they needed to capture Angelus -- Dad saved a puppy for a flapper back in 1920-something!"

"I am _so_ confused," Kate moaned, looking to Tony, who could only nod in agreement. They turned back to the train wreck of a conversation unfolding before them without heed to anything like tolerance or sanity...

Gibbs held back his laughter. "Oh, that's _nothing_. But it's better if he tells it because he stutters and it's much funnier. But you asked how I got here. My birth parents were mortal, if that's what you're asking. I've never met that other guy. My mother died the night I was born. Angel said he could hear her blood pressure from ten paces without trying. He got my name from the tag on her dress -- she was a waitress."

"Ecclampsia," Colleen Reilly said, then, her eyes widening.

Gibbs sighed and nodded. "I've figured as much. Angel called it 'singing' but that's not a human term -- I wasn't raised human, to be honest."

"Okay, I'm confused," Agent Todd announced, walking past Connor (giving him a wide berth, he noticed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes again) and coming to stand before Gibbs. "I've seen you in sunlight plenty of times and there's no coffin in this house -- "

Both Connor and Gibbs made loud exclamations of annoyance, their irritation echoing through the kitchen and Kate stopped short, freezing.

"Holy crap, Kate," Gibbs exclaimed, wide-eyed. "You and Tony get your information on vampires from _movies_ and campy _fiction_?"

"With all due respect, Gibbs," Kate bristled, folding her arms. "It's not as if I _knew_ there were even vampires to begin with and -- or that you were -- "

"Part-human, Kate, just like Connor. _Yes_, his foster family is human. All of them. No, not everyone we know is human. Anything else, Agent Todd?"

Kate paused, sensing that she'd deeply offended both Connor and Gibbs, and backtracked. "I'm...sorry, I'm just...not handling this well. I...don't even -- "

Kate turned to the Reillys and looked at them all. "You guys know Connor's background? About Angel?"

Lawrence Reilly smiled grimly, "Connor tried not to tell us anything about it, but he was sneaking out at all hours -- he may be a student at Stanford and have graduated early from high school, but he's still just a kid. We waited up and asked him what he was doing and he came back with a -- well, we found out it was a scythe he'd made while living in the dimension he grew up in after he was kidnapped. It had green blood on it. He couldn't hide that from us and eventually it all tumbled out. He thought..."

Lawrence frowned deeply and looked into Connor's forlorn eyes. "You thought we'd have nothing to do with you after that. We adopted you, more or less, yes, but you are our son. That doesn't change just because of your true history. If anything, it makes us only want to protect you more. If it wasn't for that horrible place, you'd just be a little boy right now. Only four."

Tony and Kate were both gaping at Connor now, startled to find tears trailing down his face again. Lawrence reached forward and took his hand. "All we're going to do is love you. If we have to tell you that every day -- as long as it takes -- I know Angel and Sergeant Gibbs here will do the same."

Connor shook his head, "You haven't seen it yet. I buried it when Holtz...he hated seeing it -- punished me for it -- and I fought it, but it's starting to come back. You haven't seen my face."

Connor turned to face Gibbs, who stared pointedly back at him. "Do you have another face?"

Gibbs shook his head, "I'm part, but not that much. I got the fangs and the strength, but I age like you do. I don't heal as fast as either you or Pop, either. But most of the stuff that's happened to me that should have killed me, I've survived."

Connor brightened slightly, "Like me with the truck when I was getting the mail -- and in Quor'Toth, I've jumped down hundreds of feet. Dad's been hit by cars, too. On the way out of Los Angeles, he told me about a lawyer running him over with a truck the night I was conceived. And how before that my birth mother ran him through with a sword because she hadn't shared my soul, then, and then he fell out of the top of Wolfram and Hart, and..." Connor's eyes fell shut and he remembered soldering Angel into that box and dropping him into the Pacific Ocean.

"How I knew he wasn't going to die when I locked him up. I thought he'd just stay down there forever, but Wesley pulled out him out and he came back home and talked to me. I...I tried to run away because I thought he was going to kill me. He just lectured me. He only..."

Connor breathed deeply as more tears came to his eyes. "He only ever fought back when I would hit him first. I couldn't understand -- he was supposed to be a monster, but he said he loved me. He told me the world was harsh and it was cruel, but he loved me. And the whole time, I couldn't feel anything. I stopped being able to feel a long time ago."

Colleen was pulling Connor backward into her arms now and Connor couldn't see, but he couldn't feel anything on his face. "But when he changed my memories...everything that was buried came out again. I'm...I'm confused -- one minute I'm pissed again, nothing makes any sense and all I want to do is hit something -- but then I remember something like Dad singing me a lullaby the night I was born.

"It was in Irish and I was too busy crying, but he kept trying so hard because he wanted to know I was okay. I want -- I think I feel the same way now. This should be old, but it's all new -- and one minute, I'm Connor Reilly -- I like calculus and physics and engineering, I like reading, I like music -- the next minute, I'm Steven Franklin Thomas Holtz or Connor Angel and everyone's a liar and I don't know who to trust. And -- and I'm used goods again."

Gibbs held back a snarl as Colleen's arms tightened around Connor once more. Gibbs knew what Connor was referring to, how Jasmine had _used_ Connor and Cordelia to come into existence -- his brother had been raped, there was no other description for it. But Cordelia hadn't been at fault. All the Powers seemed to see in the world was a tool set that could be used however they wished.

He didn't blame Angel for making Connor forget that and would, himself, if given the chance.

Tony and Kate were both silent now and Connor's sister was crying mutely as she watched her brother talking.

"Wait," Tony said, his eyes casting desperately around at Gibbs' kitchen as though his cabinets held some sort of answer he just had to open and find. "Are you telling me that technically you're only three or something years old, that you're _sixteen_ because you grew up in a _hell dimension_ and that you tried to kill Angel -- your father, who's also Gibbs' adoptive father?"

Connor nodded tiredly, rolling his eyes again. "Before you ask, _yes_, my parents took me to find a psychiatrist when we were in L.A. One who knew about all of this."

He then smirked, "Really, it's all hidden in plain sight. People like you don't see it because you don't know what to look for and when you do see it, either you rationalize it as something mundane or, failing that, you block it out altogether. But -- I told Angel -- my dad, before I left that this wasn't my family's world. I didn't think it would or should be. I was _born_ in it. Gibbs was born in it, too, but I guess they've chosen it now. But you guys -- once you're in it, you're in it for life, so you'd better be sure you know what you're getting into and what you'll be fighting. You don't have to fight like I do, not even Gibbs."

Gibbs snorted, "Wrong, little brother," he objected, leaning forward on my elbows. "I was head-hunted by the Demon Research Initiative, among others. Have they gotten to you yet? They pressed Pop into serving the Navy during World War II, after all. And they definitely remember you exist now."

Connor shook his head, "No. Most of what I've had to deal with was home-grown, boring L.A. demons. Dad says the rules change for every region, though. New York is pretty supernaturally unpopulated because fledges can't handle the noises and smells. When I got my powers back, I had to stay inside a lot because everything outdoors was so loud again. I've gotten re-acclimated since then, though."

"Wait," Tony interrupted yet again, drawing Connor and Gibbs' attention. "Fledges?"

"Newborn vampires are called fledglings, DiNozzo," Gibbs said shortly and Tony blinked, nodding uneasily.

"When you said you didn't want to go to another sexual harrassment seminar and would shoot yourself to get out of it..."

Gibbs gave him a brightly deadpan look and Tony's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, God, you'd've used your Sig Sauer, wouldn't you have?" he continued, his tone increasingly incredulous.

Gibbs only smiled. "I could shoot myself in the leg, get excused, have Ducky remove the bullet and bandage the site and go about my business, yes."

"The only time I've ever broken a bone was when I was fighting the Beast," Connor mused, scowling and touching his chest as he remembered the incident. "I didn't think I could break my bones."

"Pop's broken his -- I can't even count how many times," Gibbs pointed out, gesturing to his forehead. "His skull's fractured and full of various fluids right now. Hell..."

Gibbs' face darkened, "Duck said it was a laundry list -- his shoulder blades are shattered -- "

"That was probably the dragon he just _had_ to fight -- like he was going to get knighted or something."

Gibbs snorted, "His femurs are broken in at least six different places -- who _knew_ jumping down into a sewer tunnel from the top of a skyscraper could cause so much _damage_..."

Angel's voice echoed from above their heads, "I heard that, Jethro!"

"Just stating facts, sir!" Gibbs retorted, _now_ taking the time to roll his eyes. Connor grinned in response. "Anyway, he's got at least twelve rib fractures -- Ducky stopped counting after that. And, oh, hey -- his internal organs were thrown all over the place after something slashed his back open so far it cut up the tendons that held them in place!"

Connor gritted his teeth, "But he was _fine_, he said. He just wanted to see _us_ stay okay, he said. As long as I'm alive, he told me, that guy in the suit couldn't kill him. As soon as he's all healed, I'm punching him in the face."

"Connor," Lawrence warned and Connor deflated, albeit against his will.

"Fine."

"Well, Los Angeles has been declared a No Man's Land," Lawrence Reilly continued where Connor hadn't left off. "The city's being evacuated -- other parts of the state are either sinkholes or becoming the metropolis L.A. used to be. I guess now we know why Angel suggested we fly all the way out to the East Coast..." he gestured plainly toward Gibbs.

Gibbs then favored the Reillys with a toothy smile, "Really, now?"

...TBC...


	6. Preponderances

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Angel belongs to everyone at Mutant Enemy. Damn, I didn't know how good we had it until Heel and Toe went about screwing up everything good about House...*sighs in utter dismay*

Gibbs, et al. belong to Donald P. Bellisario and Co. who have figured out how not to drop the ball. I think they took lessons from Joss, David G., and Tim, myself...

**Summary:** "You failed, dear boy, in being weaker than I."

**Notes:** This will be my first story written for a Twisting the Hellmouth challenge and I'm very happy to say that I'm back in the swing of writing Jossverse fic again after such a long hiatus.

All will be well now, I think. This is also my first NCIS fic and I hope I do it justice.

To specify, it's the Twisting Los Angeles Challenge where no BtVS characters are allowed. I thought I'd test my mettle writing an Angel fic that didn't involve Buffy -- a true challenge in itself, as I remain a die-hard shipper to this day. *chuckles*

**Rating: FR18**, just as a precaution. I seem inclined to darkness.

**Notes:** Part of this chapter was inspired by the movie, _Awake_. *breathes in and out* Seriously, who deserves more closure than Wesley?

**Pairings:** Since no BtVS characters are allowed, I will only quantify the good ship Tony/Abby at the moment. I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** Further to the overall timelines of the story setting, mentions will be made of ANGEL, season four, and 5.18, 'Origin' going forward. Also, further to my being completely annoyed by the sudden age-jump from sixteen to legal between seasons three and four, Connor is officially now seventeen and some-months for this story. That always bothered the crap out of me.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I watched tonight's episode, despite missing most of canon so far and was spoiled, kind of, in regard to Gibbs' past before that. That said, I'm still sticking to my first-season canon for now and ask that people please not tempt me to gush. I will get completely carried away, otherwise. Have mercy.

Part V: Questions and Decisions

Abby found Tony sitting underneath her lab table, the bedroll she always saved for him laid out beneath him. He was cradling a cup of coffee but she could tell it was long past cold. On closer inspection a greasy film had covered the top and his eyes stared off into space, completely heedless of her arrival -- or so she thought.

Tony moved his hand as Abby went to take the cup away from him and felt himself take his first deep breath in what now seemed hours. He vaguely noticed the back of his head still throbbed from hitting Gibbs' kitchen floor, but he wasn't sure he was steady enough on his legs to get anything for it.

Beside him, Abby flinched and moaned audibly, a fingerless-gloved hand coming up to just touch the wide bruise that decorated Tony's scalp.

"Gibbs wouldn't have hit you this hard," she said softly, frowning as she gently moved his hair aside to examine the injury. "He has more control than that."

Tony blinked, then his face whipped toward hers.

"You knew -- what, you _knew_ Gibbs isn't hu -- "

Abby frowned, her nose wrinkling distastefully and Tony found himself shutting up, though righteous indignation was starting to course through him. Abby had known and she hadn't told him.

"Gibbs is Gibbs," Abby said simply, the resolute frown still in place and Tony felt his shoulders beginning to slump.

"He really would shoot himself -- that Connor kid said that Angel told him being shot feels like a bee sting. A bee sting, Abby!"

Tony was getting agitated again and he knew it. He'd finally entered this semi-blissful state of 'fuck it' and suddenly that apathetic Zen state was abandoning him as cold fact fell over him like so much water.

"How did you find out?" he asked quietly, not quite able to keep the resentment out of his voice.

Abby sighed, letting Tony's irritation pass without comment. "I've run his blood, Tony, remember? I've seen what he's made up of -- like, literally. Ducky has, too. There are elements in his body, probably in Connor's and most certainly Angel's that don't belong in human bodies without due cause -- but it's not just that -- his molecular structure is more fluid than yours or mine. Gibbs and Connor gave Angel that blood donation today because with vampires, family blood is like medicine. If he'd received non-related blood or animal blood, it would take him much longer to heal."

Tony gave her that look that said she was jumping all over the place again and Abby took his coffee from him, getting up and taking it to the sink to dump out. Tony stayed under the desk, noticing for the first time that Abby had taken off her shoes and socks, though he wasn't sure why. She was still wearing her lab coat, at any rate. Tony shook his head and tried to listen as she started to talk again.

"I'm not sure how to explain everything that I know -- a lot of it Gibbs never told me or Ducky. It was kind of like 'wait for an emergency and see, then swear fealty'. I told you, Tony -- 'Semper Fi, you tell, you fry.'"

"Gibbs glared at you for that one," Tony observed, slightly surprised when instead of returning with more coffee, Abby simply slipped her hand in his and sat back down. She leaned back against the under-panel of the table and dragged him with her, positioning his head so it lay on her shoulder.

"Yeah, you've noticed it's hereditary by now, though," she retorted and Tony tried to sit back up but was forestalled by Abby's adamant, silent demand that he try to relax.

"Angel's not Gibbs' real, I mean biological father -- apparently, he's Connor's biological father, which, how does -- "

Abby covered his mouth. "Semper Fi. Tell. Fry, Tony. Be patient. Ducky's told you and now I am. Just be patient with Gibbs. You know he doesn't trust easily, that there are so many reasons why he shouldn't. Given what Ducky told me about Angel's surgery, I'm not exactly shocked that Gibbs was a complete hard-ass today. It was either try to rein himself in or he and Connor were going to destroy Ducky's lab."

"Ducky didn't seem to mind," Tony mused, blinking sleepily as Abby surprised him with a kiss on the forehead.

"Love doesn't only go in one direction, silly," she told him and Tony sighed inwardly, his arm reaching up to pull her into his side.

"You don't have to remind me," he whispered, finally falling asleep.

***

The room Wes sat in was familiar, dark but it didn't matter. Even if Vail had poked his eyes out before he'd died, Wesley would recognize his father's study anywhere. The northwest corner even contained the wardrobe he'd been locked within as a child. No, he knew every inch of this room. What he didn't know was why his father sat staring at him with a sad and out of sorts expression on his face, puffing and pulling on his pipe regardless of the fact that it was not lit.

Wes stood, amazed that he felt no lingering effects from having died...whenever that was...and reached down to take the pipe out of his father's mouth.

A surge of reckless daring came over him and Wes smirked, stroking his stubbled face while beginning to play with the pipe.

"This does make me wish I'd bothered experimenting and dabbling while I was alive -- what would be more smashing now than to have a good hit of hashish or some such nonsense in _your_ pipe? Maybe I could have made you smoke it. I did shoot you, after all. Once you've killed your own father, getting him to do whatever seems dead easy."

Roger Pryce stared at him still, merely a sigh coming to his lips.

"Wesley, my boy, this isn't the place for you."

Wes frowned, narrowing his eyes at his father. "You made it quite clear, Father, after I was sacked by the Council, that I was _not_ your boy and most likely never had been. Give up the dream and all that."

Wes began to pace around the study, picking up random things and dropping them on the floor. He took an obscene amount of pleasure watching a vase he'd been dreadfully punished for nearly breaking at the age of nine shatter into dust.

Odd, that. Dust.

"Well, I'm dead, Father -- there's not really anywhere I _can_ go."

Wes laughed, an empty chuckle that echoed his current lack of a pulse. "And what's there for me if I went elsewhere?"

He turned an expressionless face on his father's countenance and closed his eyes. "Not a goddamned thing."

"All your learning, studying, cramming yourself full of knowledge, Wesley, and still you know nothing!" Roger snapped at him now, lurching to his feet and bringing a scowl to Wes' face.

"Oh, well, then, by all means, O Learned One -- _please_ impart some wisdom unto me. And try to make it something worth knowing this time -- I'd appreciate it."

Roger closed his eyes momentarily, exhaling audibly. "You really think there's nothing anywhere for you when everyone you left behind would batter down these walls to get you back? You really think these walls even exist?"

Then the room, the floor were white and blank. Wes wondered if he would fall. He wondered if his father would try to catch him. He exhaled tiredly, suddenly exhausted again beyond belief. It hadn't occurred to him that one could be tired while dead, but it seemed to be so.

"What the hell do -- did you ever want from me? I'd just like to know what it is I continually failed at."

Roger turned away from him, the pipe Wesley had stolen suddenly back in his hand.

"You failed, dear boy, in being weaker than I."

Wesley felt his face crumple into confusion as he stared at his father's back. What the bloody hell was he going on about?

"You turned continual disapproval on my part into exceeding my expectations without ever expecting me to acknowledge them. You turned being sacked into deciding for yourself who you were. You made mistakes and you owned up to them, atoned for them. Asked to be forgiven."

Roger turned back to face him then, and Wesley could see his eyes were filled with blood, what was left of his face and body blown to mangled, shredded pieces. "I have done none of these things and never will. My pride was my undoing. This is not the case for you."

Roger was falling apart now, bits of charred skin flaking to the floor in piles around his feet. Wes thought he ought to feel something, but didn't.

Reaching down, he raised his hand to find it covered in his own blood. ...Vail...no, _veil..._

"If you wouldn't let life stop you, then why are you so eager to surrender to death? Why would you _now_ follow so completely in my footsteps as to allow this to conquer you?"

"It's _death_, Father, not a battle -- "

"But that's _exactly_ what it is, Wesley -- in your case. You are _not_ done yet. You have more work that no one else is capable of or should do. How will you protect Angel from himself -- "

"Oh, _now_ you call him 'Angel', you pig-headed prat!" Wes snapped, bristling again at the memory of the robot impersonating his father's derision of Angel and insistence that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Irony, he thought again now, was a bitch.

Roger continued as if Wes hadn't interrupted. "Or protect his sons?"

"Angel only has one son -- " Wes snapped, turning away from his father. "And a pig's ear I made of that -- "

"You did only what you had to, because you believed. That, my son, is the problem. You cannot believe."

Wesley turned back around, confused again. "I have no idea...oh, sod it. Please, Father, speak plainly."

"It's nothing I can tell you. Everything you've ever sussed out, you did on your own and this is no different except in that you have forewarning this time. You'll find the answer. You always do."

Wes stared blankly at his father, a heaving sensation radiating from his sternum down into his bowels. His father had never complimented him in his life.

Was his death truly so different?

A steady wind had begun, blowing invisibly around this blank room, when suddenly Wes could see something fluttering wildly some meters away. He could hear voices on the other side of it.

"Get going," Roger said, his body then collapsing completely into dust and flying away in the gale. Wes shut his eyes, expecting to have to dig grit of his father out of them, but felt nothing hit him.

He took a deep unneeded breath and began walking.

He could hear Angel's voice, weak, congested -- Connor's voice, alternately sad, angry, amused even.

He reached out and pushed the flapping, weightless fabric aside and went through it.

...TBC...


	7. Misery

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** If you've read this far, you know who belongs to whom and why I felt the need to embark on this odyssey.

**Summary:** Connor opened his eyes to find his sight blurry again. He grit his teeth and swiped at his face with the sleeve not concealing his stake-launcher. "Why are you doing this?"

Gibbs frowned deeply and continued to watch Connor as he cried, saying nothing, but Connor could see the words as though they were streaming from his mouth. _Because you need to remember once and for all what family is._

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** Look, there's a lot of frowning that goes on in this chapter so let's just pretend I described it all, okay?

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'. **AtS:** post-series with the express point of clearing up certain lingering miseries.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** There are mentions of Gibbs!canon that I don't know everything about yet. Bear with me not going into explicit detail like I have with Connor. After all, I've seen nearly the entire canon of ANGEL, with the exception of DB's directorial debut that, for some reason, I just haven't gotten around to yet. I wonder why that is...Anyway, this is not the case with NCIS. Patience is a virtue and all that.

Part VI: Misery

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** If you've read this far, you know who belongs to whom and why I felt the need to embark on this odyssey.

**Summary:** Connor opened his eyes to find his sight blurry again. He grit his teeth and swiped at his face with the sleeve not concealing his stake-launcher. "Why are you doing this?"

Gibbs frowned deeply and continued to watch Connor as he cried, saying nothing, but Connor could see the words as though they were streaming from his mouth. _Because you need to remember once and for all what family is._

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** Look, there's a lot of frowning that goes on in this chapter so let's just pretend I described it all, okay?

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'. **AtS:** post-series with the express point of clearing up certain lingering miseries.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** There are mentions of Gibbs!canon that I don't know everything about yet. Bear with me not going into explicit detail like I have with Connor. After all, I've seen nearly the entire canon of ANGEL, with the exception of DB's directorial debut that, for some reason, I just haven't gotten around to yet. I wonder why that is...Anyway, this is not the case with NCIS. Patience is a virtue and all that.

Part VI: Misery

Sitting on Gibbs'...Jethro's...Leroy's (Connor still wasn't quite sure what to call his brother since the older man seemed to go by so many names -- maybe Connor would ask him about coming up with a nickname for him or something) bedroom floor, his knees pulled up against his chest, Connor tried not to let his mind drift back to the fact that he wasn't sleeping.

He tried not to think about the puzzle his own personality, his self had become since he'd battled Sah'Jahn and gotten his memories back. He tried to focus on the concrete, but that was sort of the problem. What was concrete anymore?

Sometimes, after he'd returned home (there was another interesting concept) with the Reillys and would look up at his bedroom walls, he'd half expect to see cracked rock formations or the skyline from the Hyperion.

He would look at his posters and sometimes it'd take him a moment to remember who the bands on his walls even were. The fluidity of who he was confused him enough -- that he could still simply _sense_ how the most complicated devices were supposed to work, what got in the way and was better removed to streamline the process, was downright odd.

He tried not to worry. Worrying wasn't anything he'd concerned himself with in Quor'Toth. Things had been simple -- if it was coming at you, kill it. It didn't matter how, either you did or you were dinner.

Emotion hadn't figured into anything except when Holtz was with him and, even then, they'd pretty much restricted themselves to evil or not, precautionary measures, Biblical verses and the dichotomy of his unknown nature and the evil that _that_ meant.

That this still remained such sometimes filled him with such _fear_, he could hardly breathe and felt like everything was spinning but closing his eyes never worked. The darkness under his eyelids always spun, too.

His human upbringing told him rational things like, _I'm having a panic attack -- it'll end soon and things will be okay again_, but whatever else he was never felt settled until he'd _done_ something -- usually, hunting. Only when he was consumed with tracking something did the world fade away. It was simply him and his prey -- nothing else existed or mattered.

There was nothing to hunt in this house, though.

His humanity told him that if he took off to explore Washington, D.C., his foster family would be worried sick. Angel and Gibbs knew well enough that Connor could take care of himself, nor would they be concerned with his getting hurt.

He knew they cared, but instinct always told them, he knew, that he wouldn't go out without taking whatever killed him with him. He wasn't sure how else to describe the confidence he knew his birth family had in his abilities...

He was thinking too much again. Sighing, Connor tried to let his mind drift again and started thinking of the lyrics to a song he'd heard before his memories were restored. Connor Angel, Connor Reilly, Steven Holtz -- they weren't seamless parts of a whole, but a jagged, slashing, neverending tug of war.

Growling slightly within his chest, Connor got to his feet and crossed the room to open the weapons chest they'd been given universal airport clearance for (yet another 'thank you' note, Connor rolled his eyes) and take out his wrist-mounted stake launcher. Enough overthinking -- he needed to hunt or he was going to be a basketcase by sunrise.

Connor walked back over to the bed, securing the straps to his arms along the way, and stopped to stare down at Angel's unconscious form. He still wondered why Angel didn't snap into consciousness the second Connor got anywhere near him -- it wasn't like any of the other times had ever ended well.

Biting his lip and giving his head a shake, Connor reached down to kiss Angel's steadily-healing brow before turning to leave.

He paced to the window and put a foot on the ledge, intending to slide it open and slip out before it shut again, but Connor found Gibbs' windows seemed to be reinforced somehow and wouldn't open. He didn't dare put any of his real strength behind it, but stood back, running a hand through his hair, wondering why he couldn't figure out how to get this mechanism (for he _knew_ there was one) undone. Connor was about to try feeling around the window again when he heard Gibbs' voice at the door.

Connor spun around, nearly cursing at the fact that he hadn't heard Gibbs coming at all (but, then again, why should he have been surprised?), but swallowed it in favor of frowning.

"I need to hunt," he said shortly and Gibbs gave him an appraising look before shaking his head 'no' and instead gesturing that Connor should follow him.

As soon as they were back in front of the closed door of Gibbs' bedroom, Connor hissed, "Why can't I open any windows here?"

Gibbs simply raised an eyebrow at him, "Because I'm not an idiot and I'm certainly not just going to let anyone go traipsing in and out of my territory without my knowing it. I have to replace enough furniture as it is."

Gibbs didn't smile, though, and neither did Connor.

"So you don't trust me," he sulked, at the same time wondering why he was so angry about something that made complete sense.

Gibbs reached up and smacked the back of his head and Connor glared at him.

"That's kind of vain, you know -- assuming I'd go through the trouble of finding someone to magically reinforce and bless my windows and doorways (and in case you're about to ask, no, it wasn't the Transuding Furies -- listening to those maniacs talk about Pop like that makes my skin crawl _lightyears_) just on the off-chance that I'd ever meet a little brother I never knew I'd have."

Connor resisted the urge to make a face, falling into step with Gibbs as they walked back downstairs. "Who are they -- the Transuding Furies?"

Gibbs winced and _definitely_ made a face, completing the gesture with a roll of his own eyes. He sighed and glared at Connor, cursing under his breath before continuing.

"I'd really rather not answer that because it involves thinking about Pop having sex and, no, I don't give a damn that I've been married four times and had a daughter, I don't give a damn that I know you exist -- I never want to think about Pop having sex, I don't care how old I am."

"You had a daughter?" Connor asked, his curiosity definitely piqued now as he watched the back of his brother's grey-haired head bob slightly in the darkness around them while they walked. "You've been married _four times_?"

"Yeah," Gibbs sighed heavily, stopping in the kitchen again to fill a tall mug with what Connor recognized as some sort of animal blood from a pot on the stove. Gibbs' face remained blank as he turned back around and sipped from the mug, but Connor could see the immense pain that flowed out of his brother's eyes, now a sharper shade of blue as he fed.

"I killed mine," Connor whispered, remembering the sensation of Jasmine's skull imploding around his fist now and he shuddered, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry.

"No, you didn't," Gibbs countered, his voice slightly hoarse and Connor stared up at him with wild eyes.

"You don't know -- "

"Pop couldn't see her true countenance any more than humans could, right?" Gibbs interrupted, turning slightly to place the mug back on the counter beside the stove.

"Yeah, I mean, no, he couldn't -- what the hell does -- "

"Do you know how powerful blood is?" Gibbs asked quietly, and for the first time Connor could see Gibbs' fangs that seemed both out of place and completely part of him. "Pop should _never_ have been deceived by Jasmine, not if she was truly of his blood -- your blood. It would have sung far more loudly than any cloaking spell she could have used, Power that Was or no."

Connor was on the point of disagreeing, a rebuttal on his lips, but Gibbs stopped him short with a question: "Cordelia -- as you knew her when you were a baby, what did she smell like?"

Connor paused, his mind confused while his memories immediately began sorting through themselves. "Pomegranate -- I guess it was some kind of perfume or shower gel she used or something -- but...fruit."

"What did Jasmine smell like when she was possessing Cordelia's body after having _stolen_ it?"

Connor closed his eyes against Gibbs' hard stare, but his senses immediately answered for him. "Rot. Death. Everything I saw on Jasmine's face once she was born."

"You wanted to believe what you smelled was how she'd always been, when you didn't remember her from when you were a baby -- but you _knew_ it was a different smell. You just ignored that because it was more important to you that she wanted you around."

Connor opened his eyes to find his sight blurry again. He grit his teeth and swiped at his face with the sleeve not concealing his stake-launcher. "Why are you doing this?"

Gibbs frowned deeply and continued to watch Connor as he cried, saying nothing, but Connor could see the words as though they were streaming from his mouth. _Because you need to remember once and for all what family is._

"What about the Reillys?" he ground out, snarling and resisting the urge to shoot Gibbs with one of the stakes he'd hidden. "So they're impostors now, too?"

Gibbs sighed, "They were, yes, when everything had been fucked around with. It's not fair, but that's technically what they were."

Connor started forward and shoved Gibbs in the chest, marginally surprised to find he didn't budge very far. It was like hitting Angel, really.

"So what the hell changed?" Connor asked, abandoning all pretense of subordination in the face of his burgeoning rage.

"You did," Gibbs said simply, finally taking a sip from his mug again before making a face at it and turning to retrieve the pot on the stove and dump it down the nearby sink. He turned the water on full-blast and steam poured off the metal as the blood was washed down the drain. Deftly returning the tap, Gibbs about-faced and stalked past Connor and started down a set of steps Connor had noticed earlier but hadn't given thought to in light of their worry for Angel.

"What do you mean?" he asked now, following Gibbs down into what was obviously his basement and catching his first sight of the shell of a very large boat. Gibbs grunted, sitting down and placing the mug beside him and dunking a soldering iron into the mug, causing the blood in it to boil again. Taking another sip, he frowned up at Connor.

"Sit down. It's rude to stand over people."

"Are you sure we're people?" Connor asked woodenly and Gibbs growled, reaching out and taking hold of Connor's pant leg, yanking forward and pulling Connor's legs out from under him. Connor managed not to yell, but hit the floor with a dull thud and grunted with the impact.

"Sit. Down," Gibbs repeated, taking another sip before setting the mug down and reaching for sandpaper, beginning seemingly to ignore Connor as he resumed working on a section of timber.

"Fine," Connor snapped, pulling up his sleeve to remove the launcher before it had a chance to self-trigger. "What do you mean?"

"What'd you tell Pop before you went back to your human life?"

Connor frowned bemusedly, picking up the launcher and disarming it altogether. "I told Dad 'you have to do what you have to do to protect your family' and that I learned that from him. At least, I'm not sure he realized I'd gotten all my memories back at that point. Maybe he thought I was talking about my foster dad."

"Maybe you were," Gibbs' voice carried over from the shell and Connor rolled his eyes.

"Oh, God, you really are Dad's son, aren't you -- you've got that cryptic crap down. Do they give out awards for that?"

Gibbs didn't answer and Connor looked down at his sneakers. "You're saying that that's the moment they became more than just the alteration of my memories? That I accepted them as part of who I was just like with Dad?"

"Doesn't that make sense to you?"

"I guess. I'm just..." Connor groaned, flinging the empty launcher back down on the floor. "I am sick and tired of being confused all the time. Of not knowing who or _how_ to trust -- not knowing who I even am! I'm tired of being tired!"

Gibbs sat up, his gaze unblinking as it watched Connor's face. "Suicidal 'tired'?"

Connor shook his head. "No -- I...sometimes I wish I could go back in time and undo everything that even...even _made_ me." Then he snorted, "But I'm told I was thousands of years in the making, so what the hell? I feel like...all my choices have always been taken away from me -- by Dad, by Holtz, by Sah'Jahn, by the freaking Powers or God or Whomever's up there playing 'World of Warcraft' with the planet Earth, but...it wasn't _all_ bad. I...I just feel cheated out of getting more _good_ than the bad."

"Your life's not over yet."

"You say that like I've always considered that such a great thing."

"No, I say it like you have time to make your life -- the one you _have_ -- whatever you want it to be. You don't even have to fight, not if you don't want to."

Connor scoffed, "Are you kidding? Between Dad being all, 'Champions, you're not a part of that yet -- I -- '"

"Pop just likes to hear himself talk," Gibbs interjected and Connor sighed.

"So you really think that if I just stopped -- everything demony and just acted..._normal_ -- "

"What's 'normal' for you?"

Connor made another face even though Gibbs probably couldn't see it. "You're being a pain in the ass -- stop interrupting!"

He ducked as a screwdriver went sailing past his head and clattered against the wall. Inhaling again, Connor frowned once more.

"But I keep wanting to hunt -- "

"No, you want clarity of mind. Right now, you only find that during a hunt. There are other ways to get it."

"I don't know what those are," Connor sighed, giving up on completing many sentences while talking to his brother for the time being.

"They'll show themselves to you, don't worry about it."

"You're a real riot, you know that?"

"DiNozzo has said so, yes," Gibbs replied before commencing sanding yet again. "Why am I a riot, exactly -- in your case."

Connor tried not to make another face as he thought about why Gibbs was annoying him at the moment. "It feels -- emotionally -- like you're rubbing everything I'm unsure about in my face, though, logically, I know better. I can't explain it any better than that."

"Well, I did sit at the feet of the master. You're not the only one Pop likes to lecture."

Connor found himself smiling all of a sudden and leaned back against the wall he sat next to.

He didn't remember when he fell asleep, only that he woke up in Gibbs' bed, next to Angel's near-comatose form, feeling _almost_ truly calm for the first time that he could remember.

...TBC...


	8. Unsteady

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** If you've read this far, you know who belongs to whom and why I felt the need to embark on this odyssey. Citation for the _slight_ Catcher reference: Salinger, Jerome David. The Catcher in the Rye. Little, Brown, and Company, 1951. Specifically page seventy-two of the paperback edition.

**Summary:** Kate froze, remembering Tony's enthused description of Connor's past. "Yeah, I guess so -- but, I mean, it can't have been easy, being the son of..."

Gibbs smiled bitterly then, pain flashing across his face that lanced through Kate and left her eyes prickling.

"It wasn't -- isn't and never will be easy. It's just the way things are, though."

**Rating: FRM** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** Look, there's a lot of frowning that goes on in this chapter so let's just pretend I described it all, okay?

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'. **AtS:** post-series with the express point of clearing up certain lingering miseries.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I'm not sure how I feel about Kate yet. I won't be swayed by shippery.

Part VII: Unsteady

Angel was convinced he had to be hallucinating. After all, it wasn't like he hadn't before -- far from it -- and, anyway, Wes had been there the most recent time, as well. Angel whimpered against his will as it hit him that Wes was the object of his psychotic fantasies rather than an observant bystander. Odd, though, the solidity of the sound Wes made as his feet hit the floor of Leroy's bedroom.

Odd that Wes had to steady himself against the wall and didn't slide through it like ghosts should have.

"You're...strangely solid for a ghost," Angel coughed, swallowing convulsively past his very sore throat and Wes laughed in an equally hoarse tone.

"Er, actually, Angel -- it would appear that I am no longer...dead. My...father told me I wasn't quite finished with all the bother going on at the moment and should come back..."

Apparently Not a Ghost!Wes smiled sheepishly and his face crumpled as he took in his friend's haggard, beaten form there in a bed. "Been through the mill, you have, eh, mate?"

Angel snorted softly and smirked, "No more'n yerself," he said, purposely letting his voice slip into the brogue he recovered when out of his mind in some fashion. "Yer the one with the gapin' hole in yer -- "

"Side? Mind?" Wes chuckled, pulling his voice into the _proper_ accent he'd been brought up with, himself. He was grinning manically now, he just knew. Giddiness at seeing Angel again was taking over and he was quite content to let it. "As if you should talk."

Angel smiled, deciding to throw reality to the wayside and simply enjoy this hallucination. "I should think I can. I've been dead a sight longer'n you, after all."

Wes was chuckling almost convulsively -- no, it wasn't almost, he couldn't stop...and then he was sobbing and slid down the wall of this room and curled in on himself, unable to catch his breath as tears burned down the planes of his face.

"Is it possible we've both just been very, very intoxicated for...oh, the last two or so years?" he heard himself ask tearfully and Angel chuckled emptily.

"Not unless you and Gunn decided ter celebrate Connor's birth by getting me very, very drunk an' this has been one very long, massively unpleasant hangover, yeah?"

"Quite," Wes finally breathed, feeling himself go limp as pounding was suddenly heard coming up a set of wooden stairs. The door burst open a moment later and Connor, a grey-haired man with sharp blue eyes, and a dark-haired woman came storming into the room.

Immediately, the grey-haired man pointed a gun at him, followed by the woman.

Wesley sighed and stared down the sight of the closest gun, turning to glare at Angel momentarily before scowling. "Oh, dear God, not again. Do I have a bull's eye tattooed somewhere on my person and everyone can see it but me?"

"Wesley?" Connor was goggling at him, darting forward in front of the gun-toting man and throwing the man's arm off when he tried to push Connor back out of the way. "Dad said Vail killed you!"

"Right," Gibbs said, roughly shoving Connor away and pointing the gun at Wesley's face. "Which means either something has possessed your dead body -- "

"Jethro, it's Wes," Angel coughed again, drawing...Jethro's attention and finally getting him to at least _consider_ lowering the gun and taking his finger away from the trigger.

"I daresay," he panted in relief. "I'm glad you at least aimed for my face. That would have killed me straight back off instead of just _wounding_ like everyone else enjoyed bloody doing -- "

Wes was stopped short when Connor threw his arms around his middle and picked him up, squeezing him in a hug.

"When the devil did _you_ become so affectionate?" he asked, oddly comforted all the same.

"He's always been affectionate," Angel corrected, smiling sadly. "Only no one ever bothered to return it except his foster parents."

"Fred hugged me sometimes," Connor said, resisting as Gibbs tried to pull him away from Wes. "Gibbs, stop it -- I can smell Wes, this is him. You just pointed out to me last night that Cordy didn't smell like Cordy so I'm telling you, this is Wes. Musty old books, scotch -- "

Connor sniffed experimentally at Wes, who was hard-pressed not to laugh at the comically shocked expression on the woman's face in front of him, and turned his head back to yell happily over his shoulder, "Books, scotch, and uh...I think some kind of tangy mustard -- wait, I remember, Dijon mustard with that weird wine in it -- Grey Poupon. From a turkey sandwich on rye. Wes, did you have a sandwich the night you and Illyria fought Vail?"

Wesley stared incredulously at Connor before turning back to Angel, who was grinning unabashedly now. "Angel, who is this _happy-go-lucky, giddy creature_ and where on earth did he stuff your bad-tempered progeny?"

"Shut up, Wesley," Connor rolled his eyes, making a face but not letting Wes go. "Gibbs, tell Agent Todd to stop pointing her gun at our uncle."

Gibbs sighed, narrowing his eyes at Wesley, who had tears on his face and a large tear in his shirt where Gibbs guessed he'd been previously mortally wounded. "I'll assume it was decided you weren't dead yet?"

Wes' face seemed to brighten slightly before falling into a confused expression, "What? Oh, no -- I was quite dead, I assure you. I remember...being in my father's study -- "

"That must've been a laugh," Angel growled quietly and Wes chuckled darkly.

"You...have every idea. Anyway, he did tell me I needed to do what I usually do and go about ignoring whatever's thrown in my path. I didn't know that applied to death but, apparently, I was wrong. I'm not quite certain of anything at the moment, least of all how I feel about that but I'm rambling so I can't be very coherent -- oh, dear God in Heaven, I _died_..."

Wes started to sink and Connor automatically steadied him, pulling him over to Gibbs' bed and setting Wes on the end of it next to Angel's covered feet. Wes was breathing heavily, tears coming forth again.

"Kate," Gibbs said in a quiet voice, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him who was now digging a hand through the large, bloodied rip in his shirt, starting to laugh and cry simultaneously as his hand slid over unblemished skin where he supposed the wound that had killed him had previously been. "Go downstairs and go in the cabinet up top, next to my stove. There should be a bottle of whiskey there and some tumblers."

"Gibbs -- "

"Agent Todd, that's an order," Gibbs snapped and he heard her quickly retreating footsteps. "Angel, you smell the same things Connor does?"

"Yes, Jethro, it's Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. I thought I was hallucinating -- apparently not."

"Wait," Kate said, skidding to a stop in front of the Reillys, who'd followed her against her instruction that they remain downstairs, and managing not to drop the bottle and glass she carried. "This was a dead guy? Like, really, dead?"

"Way to rub it in," Connor snapped, going to take the tumbler and bottle from her but finding himself barred by his foster father, who took the glass instead, pouring a generous measure and handing it to Wesley, who downed it in one go.

Wes tottered only slightly before handing the glass back, "Thank you, Mr. Reilly. Interesting, seeing you and Colleen again..."

"Not nearly as interesting as it is seeing you, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce -- Wesley," Lawrence responded with a small smile. "Connor, you should probably let Wesley go, he's had a terrible shock and -- "

"And Connor's the only thing keeping me upright at the moment," Wes intoned in a falsely cheery tone. "Really, I think I'd prefer he _not_ let go just yet."

"Illyria will be happy to see you," Angel said suddenly and Wesley nodded as though his head were attached to strings.

"Gibbs," Agent Todd said suddenly and Wes looked up to see the woman who'd been pointing yet another gun at him a moment ago staring down at him with an ashen face. She was really quite pretty and he was really quite insane. "May I...speak to you in the hall, please?"

Gibbs' face contorted into irritation but he nodded and followed Agent Todd out into the hallway beyond this room. Wesley watched them go with an increasingly detached feeling.

"Angel, my father said you had another son...I assume he's it? Connor has a brother?"

"Leroy's my son, yes, Wes -- Connor's brother in the sense that they're both of my blood."

Wes considered that for a moment. "How exactly did that work -- I thought Connor was a one-off miracle among miracles."

Everyone ignored Connor's exclamation of irritation at yet another title.

"I found his mother as she was giving birth to him after the Thesulac incident at the Hyperion -- I went to Pennsylvania after that. I was drawn to her for some reason, I don't know what, but her blood pressure was through the roof and she died as he was born. I...I tried my best to feed him properly and accidentally gave him more of my blood than I should have."

"He's a vampire?" Wesley asked, intrigued even though he could hardly sit up straight.

"Not really -- he's like Connor. Everyone he works with is human, though. You'll like Ducky -- he's Scots and loves to talk about stuff that creeps everyone but Gibbs, Connor, Abby, and I out. Abby's...um, I forget she's old enough to be Connor's mother, actually."

"What?" Connor asked loudly, astonished. "No way -- she couldn't be much older than me -- "

"More like she couldn't be much younger than Ducky and Jethro. She's about Wes' age, kiddo."

Connor goggled at Angel, blinking in confusion. "But...she's not a vampire, either?"

"Nope, just Goth. And...really caffeinated, and a hearing child of deaf parents and um...if I were human, she'd be older than me."

"I forget you were twenty-six when you died," Wesley said lightly, now rather a lot calmer. "I should thank your eldest for his hospitality."

"Oh, is that what you English call whiskey?" Angel grinned devilishly and the elder Reillys laughed, themselves.

"Well, you Irish called it the 'water of life' -- I can't very well top that."

"Uncle Wesley, what part of England are you from?" Kaitlyn Reilly asked suddenly and Wesley grinned, laughing again...

***

Kate watched Gibbs snap the door shut behind them and considered fleeing back downstairs, but saw that Gibbs had no intention of leaving his hallway and turned back to face him.

"Gibbs, is -- is _this_ what it means to work at NCIS because I -- I didn't sign on for..." she petered off, further unnerved by the complete lack of a change in Gibbs' expression. Frowning, Kate narrowed her eyes. "I didn't sign on to be a part of a Monster of the Week movie, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs said nothing, his only concession to having heard her was to raise his right eyebrow slightly. Kate stared back at him, appalled that he wasn't reacting the way she...expected him to.

Kate looked downward, then, her face flushing. What _did_ she expect from him and, furthermore, what did she have the right to?

"I'm...sorry for my insubordination, si -- Gibbs...I already...I already said I wasn't handling this well and I suppose I just wished someone else wasn't handling it well along with me."

"DiNozzo's not," Gibbs pointed out and Kate felt her mouth drop open.

"You think I can commiserate about this with _Tony_? I don't want to go quoting The Catcher in the Rye, but he's -- "

"If you don't want to quote Salinger then, don't, Agent Todd," Gibbs said calmly, bringing the receding flush back to her face. "If you want to go back to the Secret Service, I won't stop you."

"How _could_ I, Gibbs?" Kate asked, struggling not to gape. "In the last two days, you've turned my entire worldview upside down. Maybe you were raised knowing this stuff, Gibbs, but I wasn't -- I'm Catholic -- "

"So was my father, so is my brother -- as is his foster family. Angel raised me Catholic, too, actually."

Kate's eyes narrowed in confusion, "But he's...a...demon...you're part...demon."

"I was Christened, I've taken Communion and attended Mass regularly -- I was an altar boy. Holy water and crosses, wafers, none of that affects either me or my brother." Gibbs smiled a bit. "I...I think Pop was comforted that I felt so at home in the faith we were raised in. He's still convinced he means me nothing but harm."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and leaned back against his wall, folding his arms.

Kate deflated slightly and felt her anger drain away. "How do you do this...all of you, everyone you've mentioned so far...how do they do this -- every day, without cracking up?"

Gibbs sighed, "Oh, there's been our fair share of _cracking up_ and then some."

Kate froze, remembering Tony's enthused description of Connor's past. "Yeah, I guess so -- but, I mean, it can't have been easy, being the son of..."

Gibbs smiled bitterly then, pain flashing across his face that lanced through Kate and left her eyes prickling.

"It wasn't -- isn't and never will be easy. It's just the way things are, though."

"I can't imagine it," Kate whispered, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

"I'm sorry," Gibbs said quietly and Kate found herself looking at him again.

His face was forcibly blank and he was standing at attention. She doubted he realized it. "He's...they're all the family I'll ever have again. I have to take care of them, whatever that means. I don't care _what_ Angel told me thirty years ago, I'm not ever going to just -- I can't _do_ that, Kate. If taking care of my family means dragging my work into it, then that's what I'll do so long as Director Morrow has no cause to suspend me. I'm going to do everything in my power to use what's at my disposal."

"I don't doubt that," Kate said softly, biting her lip. "Ducky and Abby are certainly fired up to help you."

Gibbs snorted, "Yeah, so they've told me. Look, Kate, I'm not going to ask you to do anything that doesn't fit your job description. Just know that if it comes between my family and my job, they're going to win."

Kate gave Gibbs a smile then, "I'd expect nothing less from someone like you."

"Someone like me," Gibbs repeated, shaking his head and turning to go back into his bedroom. Before his hand touched the doorknob, though, Gibbs froze and turned back around.

"You should sleep some more, Kate. We'll probably be called out for something eventually."

"Dare I suggest you get sleep, too, or..."

"Good afternoon, Agent Todd," Gibbs said lightly, resuming his retreat back into this bedroom Kate now wasn't entirely sure he ever used.

"Good afternoon, Agent Gibbs," Kate whispered as the door closed and she turned to finally leave his house.

...TBC...


	9. Tugging

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** If you've read this far, you know who belongs to whom and why I felt the need to embark on this odyssey.

**Summary:** Gibbs rolled his eyes, admittedly relieved when Angel didn't see. "I think you're being ridiculous, sir."

**Rating: FRM** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** This one was difficult to write at first, though that's probably because I was sleep-deprived during the first half. That does get in the way of things.

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'. **AtS:** post-series with the express point of clearing up certain lingering miseries.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I plan to get back to the Tony/Abby very soon. A certain _family_ keeps horning in...

Part VIII: Tugging

Gibbs was seated in a chair beside his bed the next time Angel awoke, his eyes snapping open and his lungs taking in unneeded breath as he began to groan in obvious discomfort. Gibbs frowned and glanced at his bedroom door, listening to the various heartbeats in the house to make sure no one else had heard. He could plainly see that Angel was in severe pain and Gibbs didn't have anything strong enough to stop it.

He watched Angel's face lock into a grimace as the vampire rode out spasms in his extremities and viscera. Wordlessly, he pried open Angel's hand and forced it to grip his.

Gibbs watched stonily as Angel tried to push him away, opting only to take up Angel's hand again whenever it hit the sheet beneath it.

"You're not getting out of comfort that easily, Pop. No way," he said quietly, gripping Angel's hand back and leaning forward to gently pin Angel's other arm in place, as well. "I don't have any chains and you'd only break them anyway, so you're going to have to ride this out with my help whether you want it or not."

Tears were streaming out from Angel's clenched eyelids as he grit his teeth and eventually slid into game face. Gibbs took a steadying breath, wincing as he felt his left little finger break.

Angel's eyes snapped open and he tried to pull his hands away from Gibbs' again, but Gibbs only shook his head and continued to hold on.

It was an hour before Angel's body calmed down again and his grip loosened once more. He took a shaky breath, staring wide-eyed at Gibbs' now crooked fingers, a heedless sob escaping before he could stop it.

Gibbs breathed deeply, sighed, and stood, using his good hand to pull the sheets and blankets back over Angel before heading into his bathroom to reset his bones.

When he returned, Angel was trying to sit up.

"What the hell are you doing, Pop?" Gibbs asked incredulously, his right hand latching onto Angel's shoulder automatically and jarring the bandages he'd wrapped it in. Gibbs pushed on Angel's shoulder and forced him to lie back down. "You're in no shape to go anywhere so you might as well give that up."

"Look what I did to you!" Angel snapped, trying again to sit up but failing and Gibbs obligingly moved closer on the bed and laid his bandaged hand on top of Angel's clenched fist.

"Look what I let you do because I don't have any morphine for you," Gibbs countered quietly, his mouth quirking up at a corner.

"I told you not to -- "

"Give you my blood, sir," Gibbs interrupted, smoothing the covers and shifting slightly. "You also told me never to invite anyone I didn't know into the apartment, if I see anyone whose face changes then run to the nearest church as fast as I can and ask for help -- "

Angel exhaled, rolling his eyes before narrowing them at Gibbs as he continued to tick the Rules off on his fingers.

"And then there was Rule Number Six, wear a cross at all times, even to bed -- addendum A: carry holy water, too -- "

"I _get_ your point, Jethro," Angel snapped again, shifting his head angrily against the pillow.

"I don't think you do, sir."

"Well, then, please tell me what it is, Jethro, because I seem to be missing it."

"The whole _point_ of it, sir, is you aren't qualified to act in your own defense specifically because you believe there _is_ no defense -- "

"Because there's _not_ -- "

"I'm not finished, sir," Gibbs overrode him and Angel visibly began to sulk.

"You told me about my grandfather, that he was a good man who took care of his family -- but I think you were wrong because if he truly had taken care of you, so much wouldn't have happened. He didn't take care of you, didn't support you or tell you you mattered to him. Everything he said to you was always about how much you screwed up, yes?"

"Because I did," Angel muttered, his eyes now averted. Gibbs had to fight the urge to pull his father's chin closer.

"Not at first -- no one is _born_ a screw-up, Pop. And it's been my experience that being told something often enough, people tend to turn into those things."

"I had a choice not to go out and get drunk every night." Angel's face was obstinate, his mouth set in a firm line.

"You've also had a choice to kill yourself these last hundred and some-odd years -- instead, you've dedicated your life to helping people, raising me, trying to raise Connor and do the best for us."

"You notice I screwed that up, too?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in Angel's direction, folding his arms. "How?"

"You've seen way too much death -- both of you have," Angel faltered plaintively, though to whom, Gibbs didn't know.

Gibbs felt his mouth drop open. "I think I'm going to let _that_ one slide on account of you being concussed."

Angel's face fell. "I just...I don't even know what I'm doing here, bringing my crap to your door and asking Connor's foster family to deal with everything we know and do."

"How about I'm just glad you felt you had a safe haven with me?"

Angel didn't say anything else but Gibbs simply sat back into his chair and gingerly rubbed his injured hand. "I'll heal. I always have. Now's your turn."

"You have work to do," Angel sighed, changing the subject and Gibbs allowed it to slide.

"Director Morrow will call me if my team catches a case."

"You're stuck babysitting me," Angel continued, causing Gibbs to shoot him an irritated scowl.

"Do you really think you want to use the term 'babysitting', sir? Because this conversation -- at least from my end -- was absurd from the outset. This is backwards, sir."

"Backwards?" Angel asked, his eyelids fluttering as he began to sink back into the bedclothes.

Gibbs sighed, "I can only assume that your reaction to the past however many weeks has been to believe that if you're not at fault then everything's been an accident. It can't have been anyone's plan for you to go through what you have for reasons unknown to yourself, because that means that _everything_ you could have said or did in your very long life would have changed this or that -- but there are so many things you _didn't_ do, just because you had the opportunity, and even more things that you _did_ do because you knew they were right, not easy.

"And I shouldn't have to remind you of that because it's been driven into your skull that you'd never be good for anyone else -- damn it, do you have any idea how much I'd like to meet my grandfather _just_ so I could -- there are so many bones I'd like to break -- "

Angel shot him a sharp glare then and Gibbs halted his speech, straightening without intending to. "Hold your tongue," Angel said dangerously and Gibbs nodded, his eyes now downcast.

"I am your father, he is still your grandfather and you will not speak about him in such a way, am I clear, Jethro?"

Gibbs nodded, "Sir, yes, sir."

"Why?"

Gibbs looked back up, meeting Angel's hard glare head on. "I just wanted to see the part of you that knows that every part of you deserves respect, sir. Even in death, you'd protect your father from me."

"You're not making any sense, Jethro," Angel growled, gingerly folding his own arms.

"I don't figure I do since I'm not entirely certain I have the words to express this."

Gibbs sighed and took the opportunity to grip Angel's hand again, ignoring the subsequent flinches. "But...even with everything my grandfather did to you, you'd still lay down your life this very moment if it meant the return of his, my grandmother's, my aunt's lives.

"It has nothing to do with anything you or he had done. It has to do with him -- them being our family. Family is what you make it, sir. If you could put them back in their rightful places, you would. Most of all, you _should have_ the chance to know whether he could have ever been proud of you and he took that away before you ever hurt him."

Angel was staring into space now, his unneeded breath stilted as his eyes fluttered shut yet again.

"Connor and I are _very_ proud to call you our father -- even Sam was."

Angel choked out a laugh, then, shooting Gibbs an incredulous look. "Sam hated me -- rightfully. He was the only Childe I truly Sired in this state and look what it did to him -- he told me, _sixty years of blood drying in my throat like ashes...Come on, Chief...give me a mission..._"

Angel's voice became deadened, "And then I finally sent him to Hell and took him out of this misery by giving him to another. Some father."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, admittedly relieved when Angel didn't see. "I think you're being ridiculous, sir."

Angel sighed and looked up at him, "Loving my sons is ridiculous?"

Gibbs gave a little laugh inside, shaking his head, "No, sir."

***

Connor sat at Gibbs' kitchen table with his sister, both of them writing reports for online classes.

"My birth dad's awake upstairs, being stupid," he muttered, glancing at Kaitlyn, who shot him a small grin. Wesley frowned and leaned forward on his right elbow.

"Being stupid, how, Connor?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by his hand.

"He said that Gibbs and I have seen too much death -- that's...well, the word _'preposterous'_ comes to mind..."

Wesley allowed himself a small chuckle, "He'd rather you have as much innocence as he could possibly muster."

Connor shrugged, "Well, he gave it back to me -- when's he going to admit he did me a solid?"

Wes sighed, shaking his head. "You haven't known your father as long as I have, Connor -- Angel will _never_ admit any such thing. You simply start to believe things about him sooner or later."

Connor snorted, "I _know_...I remember."

"What else is Angel like?" Kaitlyn piped up, leaning around her monitor, and Wes smiled.

"In how many words?"

Kaitlyn brightened, her eyes widening, "Uh, ten!"

Wesley frowned, "Oh, dear...ten might be too many."

Connor laughed, "I'll give five, you give five."

Wes nodded in a falsely serious manner. "Deal."

"Protective, um -- super-strong, wait, that's two -- uh, broody -- "

"Hark who's talking -- Cordelia called you 'Broody, Jr.', before you were old enough to talk. She also commented on your rather heavy brow..."

Connor rolled his eyes, "I do _not_ have Dad's brow! Or his hair -- it sticks up everywhere, mine doesn't do that!"

"Yes, I suppose you resemble your mother rather a lot more."

Connor watched him pensively, "Did you know anything about her other than that she was a vampire and my father's Sire?"

Wes sighed, "Not particularly. I know she was over four-hundred years old and was Sired in the Virginia Colony in around 1607 but nothing outside the usual anthology minutiae."

Connor sunk into his chair a bit, his face falling, "Oh."

"Your father could tell you far more than I ever could," Wes said evasively and Connor threw himself with more fervor into his chair.

"Dad could probably tell me things I never needed to know," Connor groused, making a disgusted face and shivering.

"I assure you, you're not alone in that department."

Connor shot him an affronted look, "But you're grown! It's different for you!"

"That doesn't mean anything!" Wes all but yelped, drawing a grin out of Connor. "I don't need to hear about it and certainly don't want to ever think about it."

"That's what Gibbs said about Dad about the Transuding Furies."

The color drained from Wesley's face as he remembered every time he'd heard that trio of supernatural creatures of unknown origin moan about Angel's sexual prowess.

"Well, yes, I quite agree."

Connor shivered, closing his laptop and going to Gibbs' refrigerator to get something to drink. "What do you think I should call my brother as a nickname?"

"Isn't that something you should discuss with Agent Gibbs?"

"Maybe but I thought I'd at least get some unbiased input."

"Unbiased in the extreme as I had no idea your brother existed, let alone what he's like..."

"Yeah, I...I wonder why Dad never told me about Gibbs. Leroy."

"He never told us, either, though I suppose we're more accustomed to the fact that your father isn't forthcoming at all on the subject of family. The only reason I know his human family's names is due to their archival in the Watchers' Council database."

Connor sucked his teeth as he sat back down, blowing his hair out of his eyes. "Well, hell, that's more than I know."

Kaitlyn smacked Connor on his arm, "Connor, you shouldn't swear!" she scolded while grinning.

"Sorry," Connor said in a half-hearted way and Wes found himself suppressing a smile of his own.

"No, you're not."

"That you heard me."

"Yeah. Thought so," came the bored-sounding reply.

Wesley laughed outright.

...TBC...


	10. Pater, Familiaris

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** If you've read this far, you know who belongs to whom and why I felt the need to embark on this odyssey.

**Summary:** It was like a play, he decided, but his mouth was patently unable to cooperate. His father's footsteps brought him into view and suddenly he was staring at a face he wouldn't be able to forget if he tried, and God, had he tried.

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** The awesome site, All Things Philosophical about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and ANGEL inspired many small details in this chapter, which led to this sort of becoming a sort of interlude.

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry' -- at this point, we're actually closing out of 'Sea Dog' and the canon plot will start to matter far more from now on. **AtS:** post-series with the express point of clearing up certain lingering miseries.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I plan to reference happenings in the ANGEL book series, though I can only continue to dance around BtVS due to the nature of the challenge, as I mentioned in previous chapters. I won't use anything concrete, per se, since it can't be expected that you've all read a bunch of them, too, but the mentions, themselves, will be pretty specific.

**Notes:** I just finished ANGEL: After the Fall, part one, last night after finally owning the special edition. So, some stuff will come into play -- other stuff will not. But the comics, in general, are fair game.

Part IX: Pater, Familiaris

Connor lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the bedroom he'd been given in his brother's house. His things were still in boxes, delivered courtesy of his father's 'friends' overseas. He'd dug around until he'd managed to find his .mp3 player and headphones, having been quite determined to block out the greater universe until L.J. (he'd finally settled on a nickname for the time being) came home from being on the news. Connor guided his fingers over the hardcover copy of The Trachtenberg Speed System of Basic Mathematics Lawrence had bought him on Amazon last Christmas, wondering irritably like he did all the time now. He didn't entirely understand why everything hadn't reverted back to the way they'd been once his memories had returned, but he wasn't going to question it.

It was comforting, in a way, to have come back home to Napa Valley and found himself smiling happily back out of the photographs on the mantel. Something to grasp when he began to have nightmares about blood and brain matter sliding through his fingers. He could still feel Jasmine's skull imploding around his --

Connor shoved himself into a sitting position, the player clattering to the floor tethered by his long headphones. He'd gotten these for his birthday, hadn't he? He wrapped his arms around his knees and tried to focus on what L.J. had explained to him the previous night. It was his only hope of staying sane, he knew, now that the memories were staring to get to him.

***

_Wolfram and Hart - Hell Branch_

Lilah struggled not to roll her eyes. The temptation to do so was far harder to resist due to the fact that it wasn't like they could kill her again. The threat of retribution didn't really shock once one's body had been drained of all its blood and your head was subsequently removed by force. And let's not forget the knife Cordelia had stabbed her with beforehand. Nope, as a rule, there wasn't much to be bothered about anymore.

As it was, she was simply _astounded_ that the other idiots she used to work with hadn't yet learned from their mistakes even when it meant their deaths. Morons.

Lee Mercer, shit-for-brains little weasel that he was, honestly still believed Angel's soul was the way to go. If the _Senior Partners_ had finally abandoned the idea once and for all, then he should give it the hell up!

"That's your problem, Lilah," the mousy bastard (there simply weren't enough rodents to compare him to in her opinion) smirked at her. "You have no vision."

Lilah gave in to the urge to grin back, now deeply amused. She just _had_ to see where he could possibly be going with this. "Well, then, do tell."

"We've never thought back far enough," Lee elaborated, summoning a timeline from somewhere. "All that time you spent digging through Angel's history down in Files and Records and you _never_ once thought of this."

He grinned again and Lilah was close to snapping at him to get to the fucking point when the clerk from Files and Records, herself, materialized next to the timeline floating in mid-sulphur and answered Lee's beckoning with her trademark vapid grin. Lee gestured to the timeline, specifically pointing to 1727, the number highlighting itself in gold.

"The year Angel was born, so what?"

"Uh, uh, uhhhh," Lee chastised, taking a flaming laser pointer and circling 1753 before poking the now glowing red number and bringing up an image of a man with dark brown hair in a ponytail with curls around his face. "Angel's father, whom Angel killed that year, taking rather a lot more time to do so than either his sister or stepmother. In fact, it wasn't until Angel had killed his father that he began to destroy the village at all. I ask myself what on earth could have been so important to the fledgling Angelus in this man that he'd wait until he was dead to slaughter everyone else in sight?"

"He's Angel's father, end of story," Lilah bit out, now very annoyed.

"No, not true..."

Lee gestured to the Files and Records clerk, whose eyes immediately began to do that creepy 'I'm filing through myself' thing before clacking to a halt.

"O'Reilly, Connor, circa 1689. Roman Catholic father, mercantile class. Father to Liam, circa 1727 -- Katherine, circa 1739. Disapproved gravely of each of his children, circumstance unknown. Liam is Sired by Darla, circa 1753 and murders his family, saving his father for last."

Files and Records waved a hand and a transcribed sheet materialized, which she handed to Lee, who read it over, smirking gleefully before finally deigning to give it to Lilah, who snatched it from him, reading irritably until suddenly she realized what she was looking at.

"This is their last conversation while he was mortal."

"Yep."

Lilah read with a raised eyebrow and, eventually, a small smile. "His father practically cut his heart out and threw it in his face."

"Yes."

"And if Angel was ever going to get over something like that, Darla took the opportunity out of his hands."

"Yep." Lee gently removed the slip from Lilah's hand, the grin on his face far less human here than in life but the effect was largely unchanged. "We don't need Angelus, we just need Angel broken.

"We've already interfered with his ability to heal physically but who the hell says we can't go with mentally, too? And see, I know you're going to mention that pesky detail about Angel having killed his father and our lack of convenient access to the ethereal plane but you forget that we don't have to stick to this specific timeline, _nor_ does it matter that we'd be plucking Daddy Dearest out of an eventually mortal situation and sticking him in the present. And who says we can't fuck with those two annoying little genetic do-gooders clinging to Daddy's pantlegs in the meantime, as well?"

"I take it back, weasel," Lilah 'apologized', throwing him an appreciative smirk. "You're not entirely the idiot I thought you were -- though Agent Gibbs isn't actually Angel's biological son."

Lee nodded, "Who cares? My question is why would Angel name his youngest son after the man who killed him far more effectively than Darla or The Slayer ever did?"

"Does that matter? So Angel's completely sick. It's not _at all_ news."

"The kid doesn't know that."

Lilah exhaled, resisting the urge to smile. Wesley would understand and loved her in spite of herself, as she had him. She was evil, this was what she did. It was part of their dance, one she was determined to enjoy the hell out of.

***

_Art can't stand still, Tony._

Change wasn't all bad, Tony decided as Abby's lips roamed his chest. So he now knew about the existence of demons in shapes and sizes the likes of which he couldn't imagine. Gibbs had specifically told him that the magical and mundane tended to avoid one another with few large-scale exceptions. He didn't _have_ to make this knowledge his life, Gibbs had insisted. Tony reached up and rubbed the back of Abby's neck, tracing her spiderweb tattoo with his finger tips and reveling in her ecstatic shudder.

He knew he probably shouldn't have been thinking about work with his naked girlfriend not two inches away, but it was difficult when she was the perfect example of everything he'd learned in the past few days, albeit with a pulse. In hindsight, he probably should have licked it to save his cover.

Abby sit up, an irritated pout on her face and it was all Tony could do not to kiss her. "You're a million miles away right now, mister."

Tony conceded her point, nodding guiltily before gently taking her hand in his, extending their entwined fingers, and staring at the distance they made. "I'm just wondering what kind of excuses I'll be able to come up with if something _does_ happen and I'm forced to fudge a report. I'm a good liar, but not _that_ good."

Abby's eyebrow rose and she sighed, "You're worrying -- stop that. We're not Slayers or demon hunters -- "

"No, we just work for the son of one."

"Shhh! It sounds flaky to say so, but this is exactly why Gibbs doesn't tell anyone he knows. We deal with human badness. This is hinky on a level you can't even imagine."

"Hinky?" Tony asked, wondering where she was going with this. "Abby, that's..." he trailed off, giving his head a little shake.

"Supernatural beings like Gibbs, Connor, and Angel sense stuff that we don't. _That's_ his gut and it is _never_ wrong. He'd be dead if it had been."

"Oh," Tony conceded, his face falling slightly. "Yeah, we...wouldn't want that to ever fail or we'd be all kinds of dead."

"Look," Abby soothed, laying her head down on his chest. "I know it's a lot to get used to. but after awhile, it won't be so crazy. Your world _will_ shift back onto its axis."

"And if it doesn't, Abs?"

"Uh-uh, you're not allowed to say that," she countered, glaring gently at him. "No giving up before the fight's even started, got that?"

Tony sighed and hugged her. "I'm just wondering what the fight's gonna be _about_."

***

Angel lay staring at the ceiling, bored out of his expertly patched skull. He closed them and was rewarded with the dark pink void of light shining through his eyelids instead. This was why he hadn't said anything about how bad his injuries were. He knew Leroy, worst of all, would start hovering in some way and forget that Angel was not one of his subordinates.

He didn't blame his son, he was the same way when he became worried -- spouting orders because he'd forgotten requests existed. He couldn't begrudge his boy that. Odd, really, how he still thought of Leroy as a boy...

"Out again all night, is it, drinkin' an' whorin' -- I can smell the stink of it on ya."

Angel groaned deeply, unwilling to open his eyes. When someone wanted to torment him, they never went half-assed, did they?

It was like a play, he decided, but his mouth was patently unable to cooperate. His father's footsteps brought the other man into view and suddenly he was staring at a face he wouldn't be able to forget if he tried, and God, had he tried.

"I doubt it," Angel rasped, trying in vain to turn away from what _had_ to be a hallucination. Sure, Wes wasn't but Illyria's newly resurrected ability to fold time in half didn't extend past Los Angeles so it couldn't be her.

"I suppose it were only a matter o' time befer yer unscrupulous indiscretions caught up with ye," his father leaned in closely and Angel flinched despite himself. He really thought he'd grown out of this and even the resignation about well, anything, his father bothered to think about him, but it was apparently never going to stop hurting no matter how much time had passed.

He thought he'd reconciled with that, as well. Obviously not. The words were out of his mouth before he realized he'd thought them, though.

"Can we please just get this over with, Father? I'm rather uncertain how long it'll take me to die, but since my body's apparently in no hurry, I'd at least not like to spend the next however many hours reaffirming your complete disdain for me and that nothing I'll ever do will mean anything in the long run, but since I've long since reconciled that -- hey, there that 'reconcile' word again -- let's just get a few things out in the open: you feel I'm a layabout, a scoundrel, I'll never amount to anything more than that and that if my mother had lived to see the disgrace I've become she'd cry herself to death in the self-pity of how she could ever sire a miscreant such as myself -- and God only knows how Ailbhe puts up with a stepson like me, after all she married you hoping we were an upstanding family -- but here I am soiling all of that with my very existence but let us not forget that even Ailbhe hasn't lived up to your expectations, herself, what with only bein' able to give you an insignificant little girl like Katherine -- whoever calling himself a man could be proud of a pious, obedient, imaginative, easy-going little darling like my beautiful little sister. _What_ you did to deserve the family God gave you in all His unending mercy."

His father was recoiling now and Angel's breath was leaving him. He realized he was absolutely rambling, but couldn't stop himself. His voice was but a whisper now, tears flowing down the faintly warmed planes of his cheeks.

"Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name -- Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will be done, On Earth as it is in Heaven..._thank you_ for this momentary torment so that I might finally make my father, figment of my imagination thought he might be, understand how he took my heart, my soul, and rendered it beneath the sole of his shoe. Thank you for this hallucination, brief or not. My suffering is but naught to that which I have caused, but if You would mercifully lift but even this small portion, thanks Be to God..."

He wasn't sure where the prayers were coming from, could feel the stilted, formal recitations giving way to natural entreaties on behalf of himself and the family he _did_ love in time, space, and the house around him. "I have been the sword in...someone's hand for but a while now, and at first I stumbled, You know this. You watched my earthly expectations begin to eclipse Your Calling for me so You gave me the kick in the trousers I needed to set myself straight. I'm just so sorry I had to take Your will out of Your hands and make it mine so selfishly before I could see that. I'm well-aware I'm far from one of Your favorites. My faith has been fickle these past few centuries and for that I must apologize.

"I have misunderstood so much and tried to gain even more, blinded as I was to that which was before me. My...my sons, they're gifts, I've never forgotten that, but there's so much I have. I thank You for them and for my friends, my other family, for their attempts to keep my mind, my soul out of the shadow of my Other. So much time has passed, on this plane and so many others, and I lost sight of even any questions You might have had answers for and I'm sorry.

"I'm not certain where all this is coming from, why my demon isn't railing, sneering, mocking this pittance of an entreaty, but I needed to ask someone and to be honest, my father isn't anyone I want very many answers from. He's never seen me, never wanted to. I...I'm angry, Father _in Heaven_ at him and I think I might always be. I...I think, I keep thinking of what Jethro and _Connor_ -- honestly, Father _in Heaven_, why did I do that to him? -- I keep thinking about what they keep telling me. It's all I've had to think about stuck in this bed here and...what if they're right? What has trying to please my -- _this_ father ever gotten me? He doesn't make it a secret that I was his in blood only.

"Jethro's right, he didn't take care of me. He's standing right here and all I feel is fear, weariness, resignation, and unhappiness. Fathers aren't supposed to make their children feel this way, I'm sure You know that. I'd give anything to be able to forget him but here he stands and it's as though every fight, every slap, every shove -- none of which _ever_ hurt as much as being told I was his disappointment from You. Please, Father _in Heaven_, let me be a better father to my sons than mine was to me. Please help me to live up to their respect, love, and their _belief_ in me and help me to realize where it comes from."

Angel lifted, with difficulty, his arms to bless himself, blinking only in slight discomfort at the faint, nevertheless expected burning sensation when his fingers touched his lips in the symbolic kiss.

"In Nominae Patris, et Filli, et Spiritus Sancti...Amen."

Angel opened his eyes to find his father hunched over in the chair Leroy left beside his bed, his head clutched in his hands, his body visibly wracked with sobs. "Father," he said softly, without emotion for the first time in so long. The man in question flinched, his head shooting up to meet the eyes of his son, his skin deathly pale. Angel knew that look. He'd likely worn it himself so long ago. "You're receiving memories."

"I..." Father shuddered, his fingers digging into the soft material over his knees. "I killed you."

Angel exhaled shakily, a metallic (but not at all enticing) sensation filling his mouth. "You did, but don't worry. I'm not here for you."

...TBC...


	11. Blowback

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** If you've read this far, you know who belongs to whom and why I felt the need to embark on this odyssey.

**Summary:** "And something tells me you know exactly how creepy you look right this moment and you really don't give a damn."

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** The awesome site, All Things Philosophical about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and ANGEL inspired many small details in this chapter, which led to this sort of becoming a sort of interlude.

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry' -- at this point, we're actually closing out of 'Sea Dog' and the canon plot will start to matter far more from now on. **AtS:** post-series with the express point of clearing up certain lingering miseries.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** I plan to reference happenings in the ANGEL book series, though I can only continue to dance around BtVS due to the nature of the challenge, as I mentioned in previous chapters. I won't use anything concrete, per se, since it can't be expected that you've all read a bunch of them, too, but the mentions, themselves, will be pretty specific.

**Notes:** I just finished ANGEL: After the Fall, part one, last night after finally owning the special edition. So, some stuff will come into play -- other stuff will not. But the comics, in general, are fair game.

Part X: Blowback

"I don'...understand," Connor said slowly once he was able to speak again. He looked around this stranger's bedroom that Liam occupied, then -- took in the bed his son lay upon bandaged nearly head to toe and swaddled messily in strangely colored bedsheets, night tables...and sat back in the obviously equally unfamiliar armchair and asked, "Where am I?"

Liam frowned slightly, more inclined than not to refuse to answer, but knew there was no sense in being petty. He more or less had everything here whereas his father had nothing. The other man looked at him now, visibly stricken once more.

"Is...is this Hell?"

Angel exhaled shakily, laughing without meaning to. "Hell, no," he joked inadvertently, exhaling forcefully. "You'd know Hell if..." then Angel gave Lindsey and Gunn's confinement a bit of thought.

"Well, never mind -- the circumstances depend on whether or not you'd know you were in Hell, but -- anyway -- this isn't it. For one thing, humans go to certain kinds of Hells, demons go to others and only under certain terms are they ever the same. But, but no -- this isn't Hell. I imagine if we were in Hell, well, if you were -- the Hells I've been to have all been far different than more or less suburbia."

Connor didn't seem to take in much of anything else Angel said, focusing solely on the words, 'the Hells I've been in', and damning the rest. "You've been ter Hell?" He seemed truly surprised, which threw Angel for a loop and he leveled his father with a dark stare, watching with some satisfaction as his father flinched despite his Other remaining dormant.

"You say that as if you ever expected anything different. You certainly never said anything of the sort. Half the time you spoke as though you expected the road to open up where I walked and swallow me whole, or else began steaming when it rained and -- if you recall -- that was often, _Father_."

His entire body deflated and Connor felt more than heard himself moan as he let his hand fall heavily over his face. "I never mean'..."

"Don't," Liam said then and Connor's hand flew downward as he stared in shock at the visceral anger he could hear in his son's voice. "Don't you even _think_ to try and say you never meant any of it when you and I both know damned well you meant every fucking word!"

Connor's back went rigid at the swear directed at him but Liam's defiant stance remained unchanged. "You dare..."

Liam seemed to take a deep breath then, and more blood seeped into the bandages covering his chest and some slid down the front of his head so that Connor leaped to his feet and rushed to attempt to subdue his obviously grievously injured son before he further did himself harm in this folly. But Liam threw his arm forward and hit Connor in the stomach with a force he certainly wasn't expecting.

Connor crashed into the wall opposite and fell heavily to the floor, groaning as footsteps were heard thundering up a long staircase.

At least three people barged into the bedroom then, nearly trampling Connor as Liam sat bleeding and breathing, _growling_ like a winded, cornered bear...his face...changed...

Hands lifted Connor and propped him up against the wall and a man with a strangely accented voice that mirrored the one Liam had begun to talk in asked someone named 'Boss' what was going on.

"Hell if I know, DiNozzo," a grey-haired man, well-built but around Connor's own age, it seemed, glanced back backward at him for but a second and their eyes caught and the other man's _flashed_ a brighter sort of blue before yet another man, this time carrying a leather satchel and wearing eyeglasses entered followed by a woman surely suffering of demonic possession even as most others in the room were...and Liam...

"Where's Connor?" Liam barked, brushing aside the bedsheets that covered his mostly bare body and Connor wanted somewhat to force Liam to acknowledge his presence whether he wanted to or not, but more of him was afraid even to speak.

"Connor and Kaitlyn insisted upon going sightseeing and to buy themselves and young Mr. Wyndham-Pryce new warm clothing and the elder Reillys went with him -- oh, yes, you've done enough to be going on with here, haven't you?"

The man Connor could now deduce of Scots heritage leaned right up close to Liam's face and gently pressed the abrasion or whichever injury on Liam's forehead that had begun to bleed when he'd moved so violently toward...toward his own father...

Another moan escaped him and the man nearly his age turned abruptly and came to kneel before Connor, his face nearly inscrutable except for those unnaturally vivid eyes.

"_Dia dhuit, Seanathair_," the man said quietly and the younger man supporting some of Connor's weight faltered somewhat.

"You speak Irish, boss?"

Boss gave the younger man a strange look and the man relented before Boss turned his eyes back onto Connor's. "_Dia dhuit_," he repeated, his voice now hardened.

"W-who are you?" Connor asked in confusion and mounting terror. "I h-have no grandchildren an'- an' you're too old ter be my son's child."

The other man only laughed then and the younger man beside him winced, "Um, boss, considering the amount of dead..." he petered off as Boss' grin only became wider. "And something tells me you know exactly how creepy you look right this moment and you really don't give a damn."

"DiNozzo, help him up -- he's gonna get a backache all crumpled like that."

Boss was still smiling at Connor in that terribly disconcerting fashion when Liam's voice barked again from behind him and he stood ramrod straight. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, I will tell you but once more, hold your tongue!"

Without flinching, _Leroy Jethro Gibbs_ turned very sharply and walked purposely over to Liam and stood straight with his arms folded carefully behind his back. In another moment, Liam had batted him in the stomach, causing him to double over and groan heavily, falling to his knees before slowly climbing back to his feet. Beside him, Connor could see the young man beside him openmouthed with shock.

Leroy exhaled heavily and then looked down at Liam, who was breathing slowly as the other man, apparently a barber, took hold of Liam's arm once more and moved it to resume stitching his chest shut once more.

"Are you quite finished, son?" Liam asked, the same dangerous tone in his voice but Leroy didn't answer, an angry expression coming across his face for the first time.

"I don't honestly think I can stay in the same room with him, sir," he ground out, looking directly into Liam's eyes then and Liam exhaled and would have reached for his forehead had the Scotsman barber not quickly pulled his arm back down.

"All I'm asking of you, son, is that you allow him to live in your house. He is family just as I am, which you know, and has nowhere else he could possibly go -- "

"I know that -- " Leroy burst out before forcing his mouth shut and letting Liam continue, which he did without acknowledging that he'd been interrupted.

"And you have plenty of room here. Please?"

Leroy didn't speak but leaned forward and kissed the top of Liam's scalp rubbing his cleanshaven face gently where Connor could see more scars crisscrossing where his fully-shorn hair was growing back.

The barber finally smiled and allowed Liam to lift his arm to run a hand over Leroy's hair, vague and strange rumbling noises emanating from them both.

"Love you, too, Pop," Leroy returned an unspoken endearment and fully straightened, helping Liam lie back down.

"I'm tired of being stuck in your bed, damn it," Liam scowled, causing Leroy to chuckle before sobering.

"Wesley thinks Wolfram and Hart cursed you, Pop, and since you don't seem surprised when I say that, I'd say you were expecting it. What else?"

Liam exhaled, flicking one of the multitude of pillows with a bandaged finger and scowled, "You're my family, they're going to go after everyone close to me. They've already hit at me -- " Liam glared at Connor, who flinched once more and stared cluelessly back, unable to comprehend everything that was happening.

"They'll hit you and everyone _you_ care about next, which still leads back to me and I never -- "

"Pop, if you say again that you never should have come here, I'll pay a man to carve crosses in my door and floor so you can't leave."

How Leroy ignored the murderous expressions Liam kept leveling at him, how Liam's son could be so flippant with him and receive no more than what seemed to amount to a single blow, Connor didn't understand.

Since he felt as if he were to faint, however, he didn't think it would matter very much to feel anything else in the meantime.

Katherine's dead body sitting behind the doorway suddenly flashed in his mind's eye again and Connor quickly mustered the temerity to pull himself out of the strange DiNozzo man's embrace, backing away toward the door. "You're no family of mine an' I'll not stay in the house of that demon which murdered my daughter, my wife!"

And then he fled, where to, Connor didn't know.

...TBC...

Translations: *Hello, Grandfather; Hello.


	12. Descendants

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** If you've read this far, you know who belongs to whom and why I felt the need to embark on this odyssey.

**Summary:** The circle is complete...almost.

He's aware he's rather insane but, of course, it doesn't bother him.

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** I can't believe I forgot about Drusilla; I'll have to find a way to work her in. *shocked and appalled* Yeah, and remember what I said about NCIS canon mattering a lot more? *winces* Forget I said that because my idea is contingent upon it not mattering much, I think, beyond 'Hung Out to Dry'. I'll reference other stuff from further episodes but the timeline is already screwy so I'm just going to go with it.

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry' - at this point, we're actually closing out of 'Sea Dog'...and, you know what I said about canon mattering more? Yeah, I got this idea and...forget I said that? *nods* **AtS:** post-series with the express point of clearing up certain lingering miseries.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** There was an analogy used throughout the term of ANGEL that I plan to make far more concrete. It should be plain to anyone who watched ANGEL and even Buffy for any real length of time.

**Further Notes:** I've been reading _ANGEL: After the Fall_ and some stuff will come into play - other stuff will not. But the comics, books - and, of course, canon - in general, are fair game.

Lastly, I'm altering the canon timeline of each show further to reflect the other, along with specific character details and some other information.

Part XI: Descendants

"See, I was going to tell you not to do that but I thought it'd be better to just let you learn your lesson the hard way."

Gibbs poked the ice pack his grandfather was holding to his eye and managed to smother a grin at the misplaced man's predicament. In trying to escape Gibbs and his 'evil' home, Connor had run headlong into the wards protecting it, hitting his head and landing flat on his back before Gibbs (who wasn't exactly rushing, to be honest) and Tony could catch up with him. Angel had struggled to get out of Gibbs' bed, but Ducky had very firmly put a stop to his efforts and asked him to trust Gibbs to keep his father from getting into more trouble.

Angel had relented but insisted loudly that Gibbs bring his father back upstairs so that the circumstances could be better explained to him in hopes that he'd actually choose to stay. In the meantime, Gibbs had cheerfully gathered ice in a Ziploc bag and waited for his grandfather to calm down a bit before gloating.

It was the least he could do, after all.

"You've trapped me in a devil's house," Connor moaned, glaring as best he could past the ice.

Angel struggled not to roll his now slightly less damaged eyes. "Right, of course. Look, Father. I'll explain everything as well as I can but not everything is how you think it is. First of all, Leroy may be angry with you but he won't hurt you, I promise. I won't, either, and no one else will. This is the only place here you're actually safe and while I know you don't trust me and, at the moment, have no reason to - please try not to run away again. Leroy's not going to let down those wards just because you panic. In fact, he'd probably strengthen them to bruise you further. Please don't incite him."

All of this was said in as calm and comforting a voice as Angel could muster. He knew his father wouldn't buy any of it but it was worth trying.

"Yer all demons," Connor snapped, throwing the ice pack to the floor where the melting water skidded under the bed. Angel groaned and sank further into the pillow behind him.

"The only full demon here is me and my soul was returned to me more than a century ago, so - again - you have only those outside this house to worry about. Please let Dr. Mallard get you more ice for your face so that your swelling can do down. There's no sense in your being more uncomfortable."

"Ye say that as if ye didn' try ter kill me on'y a minute's time ago!" Connor snapped, fear gripping him again and Angel scowled.

"If I was trying to kill you, Father, you'd be dead. But you can't act as though you cared how I've ever felt. You've made it very clear how disgusted you generally are by me and it's not been anything I've..."

Angel took a deep breath and tried to ignore Leroy's subsequent glares in his father's general direction. "You've never cared how I've ever felt and you didn't twenty minutes ago so whatever memories you're assimilating shouldn't change that just because you've got some new information. You still don't have all of it and won't for some time."

Connor fumed, reaching up to touch his eye before flinching and settling once more. "I don' understand what I'm seein'. None o' that ever happened."

"Not...in your lifetime, no." Angel exhaled and set his jaw, careful not to let his teeth actually touch as pain lanced through his head when they did. "I need you to tell me what you remember."

Connor's own jaw worked slightly before concentration overtook his expression. "Ye killed us all, then killed many, then...some people did somethin' ter ye...ye went aroun' yellin' in a strange tongue. You...raised children?"

Angel started slightly, wincing before touching his hand to his side and eyed his father as curiously as he could. "Over a hundred years passed in between each of the acts you mention. And about fifty passed in between the births of each of my sons, except for Sam. I Sired him only nine years before Leroy was born. But Connor wasn't born until five years ago."

The elder Connor started, himself, then, and more confusion came over his face. "You said ye named 'im after me...an' ye asked..." his face became saddened. "Ye asked the Lord why."

Angel scowled again, "I _know_ why, really. He has your temper." He huffed slightly, then. "It seemed logical at the time, but I was reeling from his birth, the attacks that preceded and post-dated it, his mother's death _during_ his birth. I suppose it was something familiar, which wasn't anything I was concerned about when my eldest were created. It's just..."

Angel shrugged uselessly. "Anyway, it...it might not actually matter. The point is that your youngest grandson, his foster family, and my best mate will be coming back from buying themselves warm clothing and while they'll be more prepared than not to accept your sudden appearance, no one can say the same for you."

Connor's mouth fell open a bit but he drew himself up as straight as he could. "Yer a demon - ye can' have children."

Angel took a deep breath. "I know that. Connor is the result of a bargain I made with the Powers that Be that couldn't be balanced properly. They couldn't just throw away the life I'd earned on behalf of his mother so they created him to compensate. That and he needed to come into existence for reasons that are no longer relevant. Leroy was never meant to be part-demon. I made a terrible mistake while trying to take care of him. As a result, he's been the way he is most of his life, but not the entirety. Connor's never been anything different."

"You can't say what I was never meant to be," Gibbs cut in, shaking his head. "And, anyway, I don't care about that. I'm very comfortable."

"Have you fed recently?" Angel asked quietly but pointedly and Leroy nodded.

"The night before last. Ask Co - my baby brother. He wanted to go hunt. I didn't let him."

Angel smiled ruefully. "I'll bet. You haven't hit him, have you?"

"Pop, he accused me of not trusting him. Hell, yeah, I hit him."

Angel closed his eyes momentarily in annoyance. "Stop slapping people upside the head. Stop slapping _your brother_ upside the head."

"You did it to me."

"I'm your father. You're not their father."

"Nope."

"So I'm glad we had this little chat you're going to completely ignore."

"I am not. I'll probably forget. It's a long-established habit at this point. Tony fully expects to get his ass kicked for making stupid comments and that's the way I like it."

The expression on Tony's face at this revelation told Angel that his son's subordinate certainly did not agree. He held in a chuckle before wincing at his ribs shifting slightly.

"Yes, you have him trained. You can stop now."

"But, why?"

Gibbs was grinning before he could stop himself.

Angel sighed and shook his head very slowly. "Don't hurt them, Jethro."

"I won't. Honest. They just get a little, tiny fright, that's all."

"Well, at least there's that."

"Where am I, then, if not in Hell as you claim?" Connor interrupted, obviously even further unnerved by Angel's banter with Gibbs.

"You know those colonies the English sent over the sea?" Angel asked, waiting for his father's gesture of remembrance. "Right, well, they were eventually numbered thirteen and then struck independence from Britain. America - that's this country's name - went to war with Britain, the main part of which was settled principally in 1776, July 4th being celebrated here as Independence Day - I'll get to Ireland another time, ours is far more complicated and, despite being the size of this country's state of Idaho, far bloodier in nature. But, anyway, to be exact about where we are, it's Washington, District of Columbia, which isn't actually a state but a commonwealth and the capital of this country, the United States of America.

"There are presently fifty states and Washington, D.C. is closest to the states of Pennsylvania to the north and Delware to the east. Um, I've been in this country since 1902 - it's er, 2004 now and while it's really hard for you to grasp that idea, that means it's been over two-hundred and fifty years since your most recent personal memory, which is nothing you'd want to revisit. My elder son, whose house you're in, is a member of and works for this country's military and, by way of that, the President, who is this country's leader. That's all I'm going to say about that because you'll probably see more about his - Leroy's job than you ever wanted to."

Connor looked very nervous, glancing back at Gibbs, who didn't bother trying to disturb the poor bastard anymore, only nodding. "You're welcome here as long as it's needed," Gibbs conceded, earning a grateful smile from Angel before looking back at Connor. It was a great circle of sorts, spanning an inhuman amount of time.

"_Seanathair_," Gibbs said quietly, kneeling down to catch Connor's open eye. "I'm asking you, on behalf of my father, to stay in my home. I swear, as God as my witness, that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from harm, as will my little brother who bears your name. I may be angry with you but I will never say I want you dead. I couldn't do that to any of my family, let alone in the name of my father, your son."

Connor's face crumpled slightly in confusion again, "...Thank you...Ye don' resemble Liam at'all."

Gibbs' mouth quirked into a grin, then, but he let it go. "Me? I'm adopted. Angel's raised me since the night I was born, though, obviously I wouldn't remember back quite that far."

"Liam...he said yer part-demon," Connor queried, peering at Gibbs, whose eyebrows rose in resignation.

"I am. We've never been sure how much vampire I have in me, but I _do_ have a soul, _don't_ drink human blood, and I can go into sunlight and experience religion without feeling repulsed. Pop did raise me Irish Catholic, just in case you were wondering."

Connor marveled at Angel now, who was admittedly slightly annoyed. "That surprises you," he muttered, not bothering to hide his frown.

"I didn' think ye really believed. An'...ye hated God later."

Angel's eyes drifted down to the blanket. "I am a very pained, conflicted creature. Always have been." He then scowled at the blanket, "You did nothing to help."

Connor objected audibly, "I tried _endlessly_ ter help you! If ye'd just stayed home, instead o' drinkin' yerself ter death - "

"I'd've died," Angel snarled, finally looking up and staring into his father's now-widened eyes. "I was an alcoholic, Father - by then, if I'd suddenly stopped drinking, I would have died of uncontrollable fits."

Angel could feel Ducky's hand gently grasping his shoulder in one of the uninjured places, anchoring him even as Tony's mouth dropped open for just an instant. Abby was biting her lip and Angel could see she wanted to cry for him. Leroy's face was forcibly blank, his hands gripping his knees so hard Angel was certain they'd fracture soon. He wanted to curl up under a rock and die but he supposed this was part of what Wolfram and Hart had intended so he may as well get through it for now.

Connor stared at Liam, trying to grasp what he was saying, but...couldn't. "...What?"

Angel debated with himself for a moment before looking to Ducky and asking wordlessly if the doctor would explain to his father what that meant.

Ducky nodded and began to quietly explain, "Alcohol - which, in the form your son describes, is more specifically _ethanol_ - is a substance that effects your mental state, in the form of loss of inhibition followed by various modes of sedation. Long-term use leads to tolerance and the drinker must imbibe more to achieve the same effect. If your son was indeed addicted to alcohol at the time of his death, he was drinking it heavily for a number of years starting at a very young age."

Ducky then sighed but continued in the same professional, albeit sympathetic tone. "He was at risk for a number of things leading to an untimely death, but his salient point was alcohol withdrawal which, in its most extreme form, is called _delirium tremens_. His central nervous system - that is, his brain, his spine and spinal cord, his ability to move, experience, and feel things - had been dulled for such a prolonged period that no longer having any alcohol in his body to sedate it would have caused it to instead speed up to a rate many times what is normal and safe. His brain would have been overwhelmed and he would have died in fairly short order without medical intervention, which would have been impossible in your day and age."

Angel took a deep breath, took another, screwed up his courage, and looked his father in the face again.

The 'older' man was deathly pale and trembling slightly but his anger was also obvious. "I told you it'd hurt ye - I _told_ you - "

"I assure you," Angel sneered then, the old acrimony surfacing so quickly he hadn't even noticed, and his father flinched again. "It wasn't nearly as bad as staying in a room with you for any given time period, listening to how generally unsatisfactory I am in this or that expectation. I _told you_, I _lived down to your expectations_ - because I certainly didn't have anything to live up to when you only bothered to speak to me to tell me what about me had bothered you _that_ time. It doesn't matter, though - none of it matters. What does is that we're here now and I don't drink anymore so you're going to have to find something else to complain about, but that shouldn't be too difficult."

"I don't - " Connor stopped himself and took a deep breath. He felt like crying, but couldn't allow himself to. He had to say this and make sure Liam understood. "I don' want to find anything ter complain about, Liam."

There was a long silence as Angel simply stared at his father, trying to weigh everything and take it all into consideration. He felt like he was drowning.

"I don't believe you," Angel said quietly before effectively ending the conversation by closing his eyes and allowing himself to slide into sleep.

Tel Aviv, Israel - Once Upon a Time...

He had pinned her down but she wasn't afraid. Lawson wondered why a woman, by all rights his and his _father's_ mortal enemy, allowed herself to be controlled (she, who really had the upper hand - in strength, in contacts, in protection, conceded it to him). He longed to know why they clung to one another, what he was even doing in this place now that he had nothing and no one, really, to care for or about. Perhaps it was the fact that when he was beside her, inside her, he could forget, for a while, whatever it was he had become. Who had made him this way, what it did or didn't mean.

For now, he watched her chest move as her lungs inflated and she breathed oxygen he didn't need any longer. He wondered all the time but now those preponderances focused on her. Namely, what the hell she wanted with a _demon_ like him when by all rights she should want to kill him. It really didn't matter that he had destroyed all the people who'd been threatening her family. He'd focused more on the fact that they wanted to use him, just like his father had. That he'd saved her family as a direct result was really a side note to the whole affair.

Affair.

He 'breathed' out and allowed his face, cold as it was, to bury itself in the back of her head, enjoying the feeling of her hair as she slept. He growled quietly as he felt her blood thrumming just below the surface of her scalp, wanted her, and against all reason he wanted to keep her safe. He supposed, then, that her name was fitting.

Hasmia Haswari always insisted that they were a family and that family came first. Surprisingly enough, it always did. More of her surprising leverage, a concession he found himself readily making. He doesn't understand himself anymore, the world even less, but she can make him forget himself and his deeds and the ethereal maggots divesting him of the carcass he truly was and for that he's more grateful than he can express.

Perhaps that's why he's never gotten around to killing her, or so he tells himself.

He didn't rape her, despite all convention. He hasn't forced anything upon her, least of all drained her family to nothing and strung up their corpses like so many morbid (he's not gone _that_ mad that he deludes himself about what he does) wind chimes, though he's thought about doing it to her and others countless times. Perhaps he's stumbled into some sort of merciful phase. Perhaps he's simply become soft. Perhaps he's bored. It could be all those things or none, he doesn't have it within himself to care anymore.

Her skin is dark where his looks nearly as white as the shirt he wore when he died. He finds himself captivated by the sight of their limbs entwined, knowing that it all means nothing because the blood he spills is always, always red.

When his son is born, Sam will want him to know that first and foremost. None of the humans understand, thinking their shades and conventions, and beliefs make any sort of difference in the end, but what his father taught him he wants his son to know firsthand. It is, was, and will always be only blood. Just blood. Thick, hot, red, delicious, yes - like the apples his human mother used to make into those pies he'd loved so much - but just blood.

He remembers the night she'd told him she was with spawn. She'd hated the word he'd used, _spawn_, so he'd said it again to spite her and she'd slapped him across the face, spitting on him, and ignored the shuddering growl he produced, as well as his true face. _Reminded him_ just who the Potential was in this twisted, shattered hull of an abomination. _Reminded him_ that she knew who Angelus was and who his father had been, what he had done and what he'd never be able to do.

He'd shoved her then, hated himself later for it, but right then he'd fled and stayed gone for days, filling his nights with the screams of those too stupid to stay out of his path. Nothing, it had all meant nothing and she'd laughed in his face when he'd returned, telling him he'd never be the monster he tried to think he was.

_Why_ didn't he kill her, he wondered. Was this attachment? No, he remembered attachment, knew what it felt like and what it meant. This wasn't love or even fondness. He tried to hate her, as well, but simply lacked the passion to do so. Funny how he could still hate himself.

Sometimes he thinks she has enough passion for the both of them.

He watches the war going on around him, listens to the explosions and the shudders of buildings not yet toppled, and believes he's found his home here. The irony that besets him follows constantly in that he never practiced his mother's religion, not really, but it wasn't until his heart stopped beating that God or any of it had concrete meaning for him. He knows now, intimately, what the feeling behind the entreaties is, because he prays nightly for God or the Devil or _something_ to come kill him, smite him, but it hasn't happened and he's starting to lose hope that it will.

He prays before and after he kills and while you'd think that'd be a surefire way to be destroyed, nothing comes and picks him off.

He certainly believes something so detestable as he shouldn't be allowed to continue what he does. Something else seems to believe the opposite and he doesn't understand _why_.

He watches his son's furtive steps across the room and thinks about the mortars that fell the night before. He wonders if his son will one day meet his grandfather and hopes that it won't be so even though that's probably impossible. He doesn't know if that means he hopes Ari is killed before then or just that Sam will be dust. Does it matter?

Another decade has gone by and he's changed his name, blended in, gained control. Samuel Lawson is more dead than ever, but Elijah David (or is it Benjamin Weinstein?) isn't much better, to be perfectly honest.

He makes love to his wives at night, watches his son and daughters grow and live in the morning, plays so many roles he's slowly losing track and sometimes can forget how much he cares that the world is imploding around him.

She dies when Ari is old enough to mourn her with him, his daughters are born by her futile replacements and he feels her soul attached to his desiccated heart, so that he can love them, too. His youngest is killed the same way as her stepmother and the granite inside him gets harder and harder and he's tired of ignoring it. The Mossad can have Ari, have Ziva, have him first of all, as long as he doesn't lose them to it, too. He never thought he'd have a family again, but they're leaving him one by one.

He's going to see his father now because family is first and foremost. He's leaving his son and daughter because he's of no use to them, he knows. He's tried to find something all these years to fill the chasm and surprise, surprise, he succeeded (or, rather, she forced him to) but she's gone now and he has nothing but death and destruction again.

The circle is complete...almost.

He's aware he's rather insane but, of course, it doesn't bother him.

Angel sleeps and he dreams of Sam's life after him, of faces he doesn't know but feels he should because they're connected to his oldest son.

His sister cries, accuses him of murdering her and, of course, it's true. Graves listing the names of the hundreds of thousands he's killed, their moans carrying over the years. Faces of people he's never known, but somehow they're connected to him and he knows it. Flames pour over him (or is it dry ice) and he wants to say he's sorry, but his apologies, like always, fall on deaf ears, but then Sam's face is there again and it's like a record stops.

_"Be good to them, Chief. Remember, you owe me one._

Angel's breath catches in his throat and he feels coldness on his face where the tears are drying. He's been forgiven but once in all his years and, being so rare, it still trips him up.

"I killed you," he wants to say but his mouth won't move. Sam looks as he did when Angel met him, young and whole, but this time glad to be _safe and sound_. _You set me free._

Sam is smiling and it's bright and he seems at peace for the first time in all the decades Angel has known his eldest. Angel ponders this other identity, but Sam shakes it off, shakes his head and wraps his arms around a dark-skinned woman and a lighter young girl about Connor's age, kissing the top of her head. He's never seen so many smiles directed at him before.

"Who are they?" he asks, though his mouth can't move.

_Parts of our family, Chief,_ Sam teases and Angel's content to play along for now. _We'll wait for you, don't worry._

_Who are you now?_ he ventures, but Sam waves it off.

_I played some roles for a while, put some puppets on strings to pass the time - hey, I learned from the best, after all._

Angel feels himself sinking inside, but Sam moves forward and pulls him back up. _It wasn't your fault. I'm with my family, I'm free to love them - thank you, Chief._

Warmth rolls over him and Angel suddenly finds himself happily asking, _Do all my sons have daughters? I'm just curious, here._

Sam rolls his eyes but shakes his head. _It's not time yet. Things still have to happen, but you just have to trust that you'll get through this..._

Angel awakens with tears on his face and a heartbeat in his chest.

...TBC...


	13. Genocide

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Whedon, et al. and Bellasario own everyone. Yes, even Angel's (previously unnamed in this case) father. More's the pity

**Summary:** Mom told him that if anything happened to her, he and Dad were to go seek out Angelus as fast as they could.

But Dad was dead. And now Mom was dead, too.

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** Sorry for the short chapter. I needed set-up to spring into action.

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. *nods*

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'

**AtS:** post-series with some canon-comic goodness thrown in for fun.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** Remember that this takes place just after 'Hung Out to Dry'. That is all.

**Warning for ANGEL regular viewers:** Remember 'Soulless'? Yeah, that one.

Part XII: Genocide

**2003**

_William Fuentes watched around the corner of his mother's special shrine room, the one she forbade him ever to enter. He would be harmed by the spells over it because he was both 'of dirty blood' according to her stupid family and a boy, like that meant anything. Being a boy was special, Dad always told him, just as special as being a girl._We're_ not one of them." For the first time, Dad sounded angry._

Dad told him that in a lot of families boys were given special privileges just like girls and not to worry about it. Dad reminded him that even if he couldn't go into Mom's special shrine room, she was still teaching him magick.

She'd promised Dad she would because the world was dangerous and not just for Marines like him, but Svear Priestesses like Mom and all her family. Billy thought it was weird that they were all girls but he was never to say so, just like he was never to go into Mom's shrine.

He was desperate the break the rule now. Now he was watching his mom cry and wasn't allowed to go hug her. She was watching that shimmery pool she could make with rocks and crying, her whole body folded over and her screams echoing off the walls and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

"Will," Dad's voice whispered sadly behind him and Billy snapped to attention. Mom called him 'Billy' but Dad called him 'Will' and when Dad was in the room, he was supposed to stand up straight because it was important that good Marines have excellent posture.

"About face," Dad said quietly, softly, and Will turned on his heel to see Dad was as sad as he was that he couldn't go into the shrine.

"Yes, sir. Mom's sad, sir," Will whispered, taking a deep breath. Dad ran a hand through Will's hair before pulling out a comb and fixing it. Will thought that was a bit stupid, too, but Dad's hand always returned to sit on his head anyway and it was like a nice, warm weight and he stopped caring.

"Something terrible happened to her family and she couldn't help because they wouldn't let her." Dad looked really angry about that but he didn't say anything else or move his hand.

"Because she's exiled," Will guessed firmly and Dad looked down at him. "You've heard..."

"I can hear, Dad," Will said strongly and clearly, the way he was always supposed to speak because a Marine never mumbled. "I always hear really, really well. Smell, and taste, and touch, and see, too, sir."

Dad breathed out his mouth and nodded while frowning. "I forget about that sometimes. Yeah, because she's exiled. They said she wasn't one of them anymore. That's what 'exile' means."

"That's stupid," Will reiterated. "She can do spells and blessings and everything that they can do. She's one of them."

Dad sighed, removing his hand from Will's head and Will frowned, missing the weight of it. "

With that, Dad took hold of Will's arm and steered him away from Mom's crying.

It echoed down the halls.

**2004**

William Fuentes hid between the chairs under the kitchen table, his hand crammed in his mouth to keep himself from screaming. Mom was dead, his aunts and uncles, they were all dead. The out of town family that had come up from Texas and Arizona...Abuela Rosa's hand was only inches from his foot but he couldn't move it.

He'd felt the flash of blue-white, saw it surround him as Mom shoved him under the table. He heard the Svear blessings she'd placed upon him just after the windows were smashed in.

Dad was dead and now Mom, now everyone was dead, too. He wanted to go away inside himself, but if he did that he wouldn't feel the warm bubble anymore.

The Gh'earl demons were gone now. He could tell. He tried to be as quick and quiet as he could, but Mom always said he didn't know his own strength.

She had told him finally -- she wasn't just a Priestess. She was Svea's only remaining daughter, a demoness like he was part-demon. They exiled her because they loved her and they knew the Beast was coming.

That she hadn't wanted them killed didn't matter, only that she'd lived. It didn't make sense.

She had told him when she started teaching him, about the Beast, about Angelus, and his refusal to help slaughter her family. They'd known he'd one day be a Champion of the Light, she'd told him, and so they'd prevented the Beast from killing him. She'd told him Angelus' _true_ name, the one he'd had when he was human. It meant 'Protector', she said, in a very old language though not as old as theirs.

Mom told him that if anything happened to her, he and Dad were to go seek out Angelus as fast as they could.

But Dad was dead. And now Mom was dead, too.

Billy slid out from under the table, warm in the protective bubble, and ignored the blood under his feet as he left the house and climbed into his fort. He sat down and whispered the password he'd told Mom, who strengthened it with words Dad had told her.

"_Semper Fi...Semper Fidelis, Facio vel Morior..._"

A deep softness overtook him, then, and Billy fell deeply, deeply asleep.

...TBC...


	14. Equivalence

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Whedon, et al. and Bellasario own everyone. Yes, even Angel's (previously unnamed in this case) father. More's the pity.

**Summary:** "A case I worked last month just became this family's business, sir, and from the looks of the scene, you're a part of it."

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** I noticed I've spelled Kaitlin's name two separate ways and intend to fix that as soon as possible, but for the meantime, it should be made certain that her name is spelled with two 'i''s, not a 'y'.

**Pairings:** Tony/Abby versus the 'back' button. Also, very slightly implied Angelus/Spike. *nods* Also, it seems I slash Connor, but nothing's come of that yet. Don't be surprised if it happens, though.

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'

**AtS:** post-series with some canon-comic goodness thrown in for fun.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** Nothing I can think of.

**Warning for ANGEL regular viewers:** Remember that flashback scene in 'The Girl in Question'? Well, I'm sure Angelus had to find something to take his aggression and irritation at the Immortal out on someone and who better than Spike?

**Notes:** Yes, the title -- for those who have no idea -- is directly inspired by the original _Fullmetal Alchemist_ anime's first episode, as is the opening quote, which is the same as said anime.

Part XIII: Equivalence

_To create, something of equal value must be lost. But on_ that_ night, we thought there was nothing more we could lose. We were wrong._ - Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, 1.01.

Angel was in and out of consciousness for the next day and a half, eventually spiking -- against all conventions -- a fever, dreaming vividly and mumbling incoherently. Gibbs demanded (requested, really, honest) Ducky accede all autopsies to Gerald and a substitute M.E. for the time being and to only call him in if there was something he truly couldn't handle.

Ducky calmly refused but took both Angel and his father on as his patients, regardless. He would be there within the hour or sooner if Angel deteriorated more quickly.

Gibbs, himself, had actually astonished his team by taking personal time for the first time in recent memory, sitting stolidly next to his grandfather and younger brother in the recliners he and Connor had brought upstairs from the living room.

Connor was instructed to continue his lessons with his other parents, of course, Angel being quite firm on the matter and going so far as to take hold of the front of Connor's shirt and, eyes glowing golden, order him to retrieve his school materials.

Connor, already in an extremely foul mood after having met his biological grandfather and adopting the same coldly detached expression he'd always worn in Quor'Toth whenever setting eyes on the (now-resigned to the intense distrust -- and, in Connor's case, outright hatred toward him -- if still deeply saddened) man, had done so, stomping audibly down the hall to his now completely unpacked bedroom and grabbing the nearest book available, which turned out to be the same book of anatomical lithographs he had enjoyed on the plane ride out of Los Angeles.

Despite his own warnings to the contrary, Kaitlin, tired of not seeing her brother for hours at a time, set up shop right next to him, both of them nestled into the center recliner and Kaitlin reading the descriptions from the lithographs and chapter sections while Connor kept an eye on his father at all times.

At first, his grandfather had -- rather bravely, Connor thought, considering the withering glare he'd made certain to give the man before Angel's hot, sweaty hand clasped on his forearm and gave the skin a firm twist, causing Connor to gasp slightly and bringing his attention to Angel, who was glaring, deathly pale but with absolute authority, at his youngest son.

"Behave yourself, is that understood?"

Connor didn't answer, merely yanking his arm out of Angel's sadly weakened grip and returning to listening to Kaitlin's voice, which wavered a bit as she noticed her brother's grandfather staring unabashedly at her.

"Yer...yer name is Kaitlin," the elder Connor ventured, glancing for a moment at both Angel and the already fading bruising in his grandson's skin. "Kaitlin Reilly."

"Yes, sir," Kaitlin answered warily, her eyes darting to Angel, who sighed and beckoned for Connor to answer, who gritted his teeth but did so.

"He won't hurt you, _óg Deirfiúr_," Connor said firmly, capitalizing on the Irish he'd been picking up from Angel and Gibbs and shamelessly using to his advantage in regard to his father's father, just as Gibbs had done. He didn't add the threat, _Or he'll answer to me_, but it was still clear to the older man.

The elder Connor started momentarily before leveling an uneasy smile that seemed more a grimace at his son. "You've taught them our language."

"I taught Jethro," Angel corrected, coughing and bringing up a trickle of blood. Connor, the closest, jumped up and grabbed Kleenexes from the side of the bed and wiped Angel's mouth, after which he could see Angel was distinctly irritated further. "Connor just picks things up and I suppose Va -- Kaitlin, Lawrence, and Colleen were modeled the same way."

Confusion settled onto the older man's face yet again but Angel ignored it. "Modeled? What d'yeh mean?"

"He means my mom, dad, and I aren't supposed to exist," Kaitlin said blankly, her hands coming up the grip the handrests of the chair she sat rigidly in.

Gibbs glanced at her, frowning even as matching expressions landed on his brother and father's faces. "According to -- where the hell is Wes, anyway?"

"He's _been asleep_, but he went to go meet Kate," Connor said darkly, his gaze locked on his sister's, who now had tears of her own trailing down her face. "That's not how it worked. Wes looked into it for hours since he got here -- he found a bunch of the books Wolfram and Hart had given him in his room here and I guess he decided he was going to figure _everything_ out because he had what Dad calls a 'quiet Eureka moment'. I don't know what they said last night but now's as good a time as any to find out."

With that Connor turned back and leveled Angel in turn a pointed glare. "You're not going to get away with not telling me things that have everything to do with me anymore, Dad. You promised. You're in danger of falling back into old habits as it is."

Angel froze, his own frown deepening before he let his entire body sag, realizing with further shame the truth of Connor's words.

"Wes looked into more of Wolfram and Hart's deal to place you with Lawrence, Colleen, and Kaitlin -- " He nodded toward Connor's sister, who clenched his hand apprehensively. "Part of the ritual he used took the blood I spilled the night you -- "

Angel swallowed convulsively and stared up at the ceiling, tears coming back to slide down the sides of his face. Connor wiped them away but he was too tired to stop him. "After that night in the mall, your blood was used to create a family for you. They're part of you and, as a result, part of me, part of your mother, part of my father, and back and back.

"You have Colleen's eyes because they're Darla's eyes. You have -- had Lawrence's hair before it went grey like Jethro's. Kaitlin fell under the same principle. For all intents and purposes all three of us are your blood parents. Technically, I'm Kaitlin's father as much as Lawrence is, because she's your sister and I'm your father."

The elder Connor's eyes were wide with astonishment, turning to look at Kaitlin, who was staring at Angel with tears sliding down her face. "I'm not real."

Angel leveled her with a firm stare. "Yes, you are. You're my daughter. Only my third if that means anything to you. That's entirely the point of what I did. Connor's DNA is my DNA, his mother's and now yours. Your parents, from what we could find, are cousins many, many times removed, rather like the first President Adamses.

"But they're descendants from my mother's and my father's extended families because of the way you were created. The marriage selection back then wasn't like it is today. Chances were, everyone was related to everyone else in some fashion."

He leveled Kaitlin with an earnest stare.

"You're not fake. You're not even borrowed. Understand?"

Kaitlin nodded, breathing shakily as she tried to keep from crying. Her brother put his arm around her shoulder and gave her as gentle a squeeze as he could.

"But why did Colleen's blood come from my mother?" Connor asked, his face pensive, thinking painfully of that night he made the single biggest mistake of many. "And Lawrence has grey eyes. So does Kaitlin."

"Vail couldn't create exact replicas, little brother," Gibbs chipped in, himself deep in thought. "Not even the magicks he used would allow that. It'd be seen through in an instant, for one. Everyone knows Pop's a vampire and that Darla's died, twice, at least.

"Not even the human world could shield their identities if they were clones. I told you, it all came down to you. Your acceptance of them sealed the bond between all of us. Your DNA may have been altered and reshaped, but that didn't mean much in the eyes of magick.

"If you hadn't made that choice, they likely eventually wouldn't have existed anymore."

Both Angel and Connor glared at Gibbs but he refused to be penitent. It was the truth whether anyone liked it or not.

Kaitlin started again, tears splashing down her cheeks, craning her head to stare at Gibbs, who met her head-on, their eyes the exact same color.

She thought for a moment, then, turning back and staring at her brother's namesake. "When you first saw my brother and I, you froze. Why?"

The elder Connor's eyes widened slightly before his face crumpled slightly. "I...I thought ye were my daughter except fer yer eyes an' yer brother looks rather as my son did at that age, thinner an' with different eyes, but they look and act almost the same. It felt as though I were starin' at my own children.

"It does feel as such whenever I look at either o' ye until I look at Liam again an' I see yer not the same. It doesn' make sense. Ye don't look alike, not really..."

"Connor looks more like Kathy than me," Angel said flatly, attracting his father's deservedly (in his eyes) rather bitter stare. "And his mother. He has Kathy's face, though not her nose, and his mother's eyes and ears -- his other overall shape, period -- that's Darla."

Angel scowled, "Spike used to call me a lummox when he felt courting like a beating. If he wasn't probably dead, I'd beat him with one of Jethro's hammers."

"Too much information!" Gibbs and the younger Connor yelled at the same time and Kaitlin cringed before making a disgusted face.

The elder Connor, on the other hand, was quite pale now. "You...you did..."

"What vampires do," Angel grated out flatly.

"Ew. Didn't need to know," Kaitlin said simply and snatched Connor's book back out of his hands to distract herself.

Gibbs, disgusted himself though far less so, stood abruptly. "I'll be in the basement, far away from my tools, getting very, very drunk so I don't have to remember you said that."

"You will not," Angel ground out and Gibbs halted instantly. "The pair of you aren't chaste virgins, so shut up. The only one who could make that excuse is Kaitlin and she's taken it better than either of you."

"You didn't raise her!" Connor howled, slamming a hand down on the chair.

Angel sighed audibly, "I didn't raise you. I regret it every day."

Connor shrank back at the quiet, deadened tone in his father's voice and the unintended slight. "I'm sorry."

Gibbs sighed, as well, and sat back down, "Wes took Lawrence and Colleen with him. He said they might as well know what they're in for since they insist on taking part in our lives."

"You said I brought them into this," Connor snapped, now confused. "What do you mean 'they insist'?"

Gibbs almost slapped Connor again, but a sharp glare from Angel stopped him. He sighed heavily, "Exactly what I said. They still have a choice in the matter. They made it, if you recall.

"They said you were adopted but you're still their son. They've decided they're going to put their advanced educations to use keeping the rest of us alive, apparently."

"Oh," Connor said quietly. "I guess that's okay."

"'Okay'? It's not up to you! Weren't you the one just complaining about never being given a choice in anything?"

"By fate!" Connor snapped again and this time Angel did reach forward to pinch him again, drawing a hiss.

"Don't be impolite with your brother. And you, Jethro, remember that Connor is _not_ a member of your team and you will not treat him as such. Why are you standing again?"

"I have a bad feeling," Gibbs said lowly, running his hand through his hair and raising it on end. "Something's very wrong. I'll be back in a moment, sir." With that, he left.

Angel winced. Jethro only called him 'sir' when he felt things were very serious, he was in trouble, or both.

Within five minutes he was thundering back up through the house, whipping out his cell phone. "Pop! Pryce's cell number, now!"

Angel rattled it off without thought and Gibbs was jabbing it into his phone as he returned, telling him to meet Gibbs at an address and giving directions but adding vehemently that Wes was not to let the Reillys out of the car until the scene had been secured.

With that, Gibbs hung up and starting speed dialing numbers, ordering his team to the same address and to start processing the scene, but ordering them not to alert the Director or someone called SecNav would be dragged into it.

"Jethro, what's happened?" Angel snapped, himself, and Gibbs paused, very pale.

"A case I worked last month just became this family's business, sir, and from the looks of the scene, you're a part of it."

Angel's eyes widened. "No -- no, I've been in this bed all this time, the last two days! I -- you should have chained me up!"

"You weren't there, sir," Gibbs was quick to reassure. "But they know you, or someone who was there does, only I wasn't aware of that when I met them, though I'm thinking they must've known me.

"Your tattoo is carved into the outer wall of the tree house I just finished helping a Marine's son build. Scorched, with balancing demonic magick."

Angel stared, completely unable to think of anything to say. Finally, he managed to croak, "Is there anything else?"

"Sergeant Fuentes' entire family, as well as his widow were murdered sometime in the last twenty-four hours and his son's missing. You're needed, little brother. I'll fill you in when I get there, sir."

Connor jumped up, his eyes darting around to find his new jacket, but Gibbs stopped him, shoving an extra NCIS jacket and hat into his hands instead.

"You need to blend in better."

Connor nodded, quickly putting them on, unable to resist grinning in excitement. _Finally_ something exciting was happening! Angel sighed and reached into Gibbs' bedside table, handing Connor a knife and watching him sheathe it in his belt. With that, Gibbs turned on his heel and left with Connor in tow.

"Don't look so damned excited," they heard Gibbs admonishing. "A boy just like you's lost his entire family, _just like you_, and _unlike_ you has no chance of ever getting them back. That's nothing to grin about and you know it."

"I -- "

"Stop it."

The elder Connor watched them go, fear building in his heart, wondering what was going on yet again. Connor blinked, reaching down to touch his chest.

He pulled his shirt out of his waistcoat and placed a hand on his bare skin before looking to Liam in terror.

"Liam, I cannot feel my heart."

Angel was brought up short in his worry, his face contorting in confusion. He held up a finger and appeared to listen for a while before his own eyes widened, as well. "I can't hear it. It's not -- come here."

Connor jerked to his feet, watching Liam take gentle hold of his wrist -- it didn't even occur to him to flinch at the heat of his son's feverish skin, still covered in a sheen of sweat despite being given ice water and cold towels.

Angel looked back up at his father, mystified. "You don't have a pulse. Your heart. It's not beating."

...TBC...

* _óg Deirfiúr_ - little sister


	15. Wounded

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Whedon, et al. and Bellasario own everyone. Yes, even Angel's (previously unnamed in this case) father. More's the pity.

**Summary:** Gibbs raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to glance up at his baby brother. "You'd be surprised. Too much can be too much, even for us -- will you stop pacing, jackass!" He growled up at Connor, who froze, his body pivoting to stare deathly calmly down at Gibbs. "If you contaminate my crime scene, I'm tossing you off the George Washington Bridge!"

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** I've been listening to The Decemberists pretty much on repeat and 'Hazards of Love' inspired the title, though you really wouldn't know it unless you've heard the album's opening tracks.

**Pairings:** Rather more than implied Abby/Tony. I won't specify anything from Jossverse because we have actual dialogue for all those pesky details. NCIS is just so much more with the allusions. They're cool with everyone. I'd say I'm surprised there aren't more pregnancies, weddings, or civil unions in fanfiction, but I probably just haven't read them.

Furthermore, I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'

**AtS:** post-series with some canon-comic goodness thrown in for fun.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** There's a scene in 'UnSEALed' that directly inspired this chapter. I love Gibbs with children, don't you?

**Warning for ANGEL regular viewers:** Again, spoilers for 'Soulless' for those few of us who still haven't seen it by now.

Part XVI: Wounded

Connor practically vaulted out of Gibbs' van, almost running to the scene before Gibbs' hand yanked firmly on his shoulder. "I'm sure you're used to barreling into this or that situation and just figuring things out as you go along, but that's not how crime-solving works, understand."

Somehow the way L.J. phrased it left Connor in doubt that it wasn't a question. Ordinarily angered by such a thing, Connor now forced himself to take a breath and access the scene, sliding out of The Destroyer mode and back into the persona of Connor Reilly who just happened to have superpowers.

_I'll just keep stabbing you...'til, 'til you bleed to death..._

Connor gritted his teeth and eyed everything within his field of vision. Immediately, he could see his father's once again-familiar tattoo emblazoned on the side of the tree house, glittering in a way that called to him for some reason. He sped up and nudged L.J. in the side, pointing to the symbol, a question coming to mind just now.

"Did Dad ever tell you what that meant, anyway?"

L.J. obviously didn't want to stop, but did so out of Connor being family. "No. Get to work, will you?"

Connor scowled, again assessing the scene. L.J.'s agents were all scurrying around, carrying body bags and smaller plastic ones with stuff inside them and crime scene tape surrounded the entire area, but no one was climbing into the tree house.

"DiNozzo," Connor called out, surprising the agent in question. He blinked for a moment, glanced at Gibbs in a plainly unnerved fashion, before flailing a bit with the stuff in his hands.

"Yeah, Reilly? Angel? _What?_"

"Has anybody bothered to check that tree house at all?"

"What tree house?" DiNozzo asked, his expression morphing into bewilderment.

Connor growled, becoming the Destroyer again, and dashed over to the wooden structure, leaping the height to the support platform in one bound, causing both DiNozzo and Todd to stop and stare.

Gibbs snarled, himself, not caring if his more feral side made an appearance at the moment. "WORK!"

Kate and Tony both snapped out of their stupor, returning to their individual tasks, while throwing uneasy glances at Connor who appeared to be stalking around on thin air.

Wes walked up to Kate, squatting next to a body she was zipping into a bag. "There're likely runes or some other binding magick upon the tree house Agent Gibbs and Connor have mentioned, keeping people such as yourself from seeing or going near it. Demons engage in their own protective measures to ensure the survival of their young, particularly in an instance such as this. Young William is officially the last of his mother's race."

Kate's eyes widened and she began to shake her head and back away, but Wesley told hold of her wrist. "Agent Todd, you have to understand, just because you know these things doesn't mean they have to define you. You're not a Slayer, a Watcher, or a demon hunter. This is not your territory and it will frighten you, as it should. If it didn't, I'd have my doubts about your sanity."

"Connor's not a -- a Slayer, either -- "

At this Wesley chuckled, glancing downward out of reflex. "No one knows what Connor is, much to their everlasting chagrin. Angel, Cordelia, Charles, Wi -- " Wesley faltered but forced himself to go on. "Winifred, Lorne, and I? He wasn't some portent of doom, some tool to be used. He was -- is our nephew, Angel's son, just as Agent Gibbs is to him. Family.

"If he's a Slayer, the first male in all the line, it might make some sense, but in the end, he's just...our boy. I risked everything I knew, I was throwing it all away, not because I wanted to do so -- dear God, Angel's my best mate in this world, he and Cordelia were probably the first friends I'd ever had. All I cared about was not adding yet another burden to his already considerably heavy load of self-hatred. All I cared about was saving two of the _people_ I've cared about most because I love them.

"Connor is my nephew, to me, nothing more -- not a tool, not a weapon, not a force to be channeled. I changed his nappies. I fed him bottles. I read him stories and watched his father break a window with a miniature hockey stick before dressing Connor in the jersey with his name on it. I recently noticed that same shirt on the newer bear Angel got him after we had to blow up the first one as a decoy. Connor still has it somehow.

"From what Angel told me, he didn't put Jethro down for more than a few hours at a time until he was at least two years old."

Wesley glanced at Kate's disbelieving face and chuckled sardonically, "Given how jittery he was the night Connor was born, I can certainly believe that. I suppose he was right, in a way, saying that Agent Gibbs is my nephew, as well. Angel is my brother and he is their father.

"Never mind species or genetics, never mind that he was already more than two hundred years old when I was born. To the Devil's hell with that. I need my family and I'll be damned if I lose them again because of bloody _semantics_. And if you're having trouble now, you haven't met Charles or Spike or Illyria yet."

Wes smirked, then, "Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves."

"Damn, Pryce, you certainly loosened up," a new voice sounded and Kate Lockley strolled up, somewhat helping Gibbs carry two more body bags.

Wes snorted, then sneered lightly, "Yes, well, that _stick_ you all make so much of was rather forcibly removed so I'm not sure I'm all that happy about it. Agent Caitlin Todd, meet -- you never have told anyone what 'Kate' is short for, have you? Anyway, Kate Lockley."

"No, Wes, and you certainly won't be the first. Connor's doing his thing, I guess, so I've decided to pretend I'm still a cop and help out, too. Agent Gibbs here kindly _insisted_ he needed all hands on deck."

Together they carefully set the bodybags down in the lengthening line and Kate Lockley nodded toward Kate Todd, who uneasily nodded back, at which the latter Kate chuckled.

"It's alright. Believe me, I had a _way_ harder a time accepting all of this. My father was a cop, raised me to be one -- this was _not_ part of my plan. It's just the way things happened, though, and once I realized it wasn't Angel's fault, I had a decision to make, so I did."

"Yeah, but -- "

Lockley sighed, beginning to walk with Wesley and Todd each to where Connor stood, from their view, in midair, "Did it drive me crazy first? Did it destroy me? Yeah, it almost did -- because I let it. I made Angel my target and like the masochistic idiot he is, he just took it and took it until finally, he got tired of my bullshit."

Lockley looked Wes straight on, her tone full of apology for the one they cared for who wasn't here. "He's not the reason my father died. He's certainly not the one who killed him. My father made a decision, that decision ultimately got him killed. And that decision pains Angel far more than it does me, I'm sure, because he tried to save my father's life but Dad wouldn't invite him in. I'll never know why and it's useless to speculate."

Lockley sighed, squatting down and carefully outlining a line of small footprints of blood leading directly to the place where Connor was 'floating' restlessly in chalk. "And I've still had some healing to do because..." Kate took a forceful breath, her eyes darkening then.

"Just now was the first time I'd called him 'Dad' since the night he died. I...I don't know who I've had the most trouble forgiving: Dad, Angel, or myself. But second-guessing and obsessing -- this world tends to bring that out in those not born in it. I don't know what it is about them -- "

Lockley glanced at Gibbs, who looked back without expression, and upward at Connor, who seemed to be running out of patience. She was almost positive that Gibbs knew that, but was making him wait on purpose. "But maybe because they were kids and this has always been their world, their knowledge, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't do anything stupid like down an entire bottle of Valium and chase it with vodka."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to glance up at his baby brother. "You'd be surprised. Too much can be too much, even for us -- will you stop pacing, jackass!" He growled up at Connor, who froze, his body pivoting to stare deathly calmly down at Gibbs. "If you contaminate my crime scene, I'm tossing you off the George Washington Bridge!"

"That's from New Jersey to New York!" Connor snarled, gripping the rail of the tree house and forcing himself not to stomp. "Dad would notice, now GET UP HERE!"

Gibbs allowed Tony and Palmer to bring over one more body bag before finally 'deigning' to ascend the tree house again, after which Connor punched him in face, sending him flying back down to the ground to land with a heavy thud that clearly knocked the wind out of him, before storming back inside.

Abby, who had just come out of the house with Ducky to see Gibbs flying back down to the ground, halted, her hands fisted and wailed, "My poor silver-haired fox! Connor, stop hitting Gibbs or you don't get to be my lucky charm anymore!"

"Wow," Lockley deadpanned, chuckling again. "That puts a whole new spin on sibling rivalry."

Todd was glancing back and forth at Connor, Gibbs, and Wes, who merely snorted. "Actually, they're quite fond of one another from what I can tell -- it might be the blood or simply their similar personalities -- not to mention their father's."

Wesley allowed himself a small smile, "Say nothing of the fact that Illyria threw Spike into the hallway the day Connor was reacquainted with us, Spike screamed that she was a 'filthy harlot' and that he was going to tear her neck -- I'm certain he meant 'throat' -- out before stomping back inside, and Connor told Angel that Wolfram and Hart was 'way better than college' only _after_ meeting Lorne.

"When we entered the training room, Illyria was standing on Spike's head, pinning him to the floor, and calling him her pet. That was an interesting day..."

"But, all in all, nothing special," Lockley summarized with a smirk and Todd chuckled uneasily.

A window in a nearby car rolled down and a woman's voice yelled, "Connor Allen Angel Reilly, don't you ever let me see you hit Jethro like that again, is that understood?"

"FINE! Tell him to come up here!"

Colleen sighed from the car as she watched Abby and Ducky rush to Gibbs's side and attempt to administer treatment to him, but Gibbs sprang to his feet, an audible growl emanating from him as he took off at a run and jumped the full height back up to the platform, ignoring the astonished yell Tony let out and ready to give Connor what-for, only to be stopped in his tracks.

Connor was now sitting in a puddle of blood, his face _changed_ with his eyes electric blue and burgeoning fangs protruding from his gums as he glared at Gibbs, soft whimpering growls bursting forth despite his obvious efforts to stifle them.

Frowning, Gibbs opened his mouth and a growl of his own immediately issued forth. He paused, reaching up and pricking his finger on his left upper fang before watching the pinprick heal instantly without even taking the normal few minutes.

He didn't have to look at his reflection to know his own face had changed, as well. His heart was racing now, the _darkness_ or whatever it was and aggression inside them both screaming to get free. Gibbs took five or so minutes to rein himself back in but it wasn't working. He looked down at the floor and saw the still body of Billy Fuentes comatose in a casing of intricate spellwork, his feet covered in what he knew to be the blood of his family members down in the yard.

Gibbs balled his fists for a moment and forced himself not to pace, ignoring the cornered feeling he was getting from just being in this place.

"Angel was the only one who was supposed to come in here," he rumbled, not knowing or caring where the thought came from but understanding it to be true. "It doesn't recognize us because it doesn't know we're of his blood. We have to tell it so it'll stop trying to reject us. Take out the knife Pop gave you."

Connor whipped his hand down to his belt, fumbling with a knife for the first time in well over a decade. In the course of trying to control himself, he cut his fingers in a diagonal line and his blood dripped onto the floor around Billy's body. Immediately, his face receded and he threw himself back into a corner, heaving with exhaustion and terror.

"I...I..."

"Give me the knife, little brother," Gibbs growled as gently as he could given the tenuous control he had over himself. Connor threw it forward and Gibbs dodged to the left as it embedded itself where his head had been moments before.

"I'm sorry! I don't -- "

"It's fine!" Gibbs snapped, his heart beating even faster if that were possible. He forced himself to turn and yanked at the knife with all his strength, only just managing to prise it from the wood it was embedded in, and immediately slashing his palm open with it and pressing it to the wall of the structure he'd just turned away from.

_Sons of Angelus, hear us,_ a chorus of female voices began to speak immediately, their voices a calming lilt circling them and calming the demons within, bringing tears forth before they had even noticed. _We are dead but one of our number, the rare and only male, has been spared. We the Daughters of Svea call out in entreat to the Sons of Angelus, Patron Saint of our Order, asking that this Son of Svea be protected. We owe that to our Mistress, to her daughter, who gave her life for him._

_"Angelus refused to destroy our order and was beaten nearly to death by the Beast that murdered our family and the Abomination who even in death sent Gh'earl demons to destroy the Daughter of Svea as well as he who was left. Protect him."_

Gibbs felt the calming influence leave him but the terror and lack of control didn't return. He quietly bypassed Billy's form one last time to lift his now-healed hand to his brother's and help him to his feet. Gibbs hugged Connor to himself before stepping back and offering the sleeve of his jacket to Connor to wipe his face with.

Connor laughed humorlessly but accepted the offer before turning and finally jumping out of the tree house, which apparently was now visible to all and sundry. Wordlessly, he went to Wesley's car and got into the back where he collapsed into his mother's arms and began to sob without heed to those around him. Colleen kissed the top of his head, stroking his hair, but to no avail, so she and, now, Lawrence simply held him and waited for it to pass.

Gibbs knelt down and gathered Billy's gently breathing body in a gentle hold before shifting him into a fireman's carry and walking out to the balcony and climbing down to the ground before turning back to the tree house.

"_Semper Fi_, he whispered and a silvery shimmer rippled over it before he continued. "_Semper Fidelis, facio vel morior_..."

The shelter disappeared then without a trace. Gibbs sighed, not looking away when Wesley came to stand next to him.

"Sons of Angelus. Daughters of Svea. Suddenly this makes slightly more sense. I take it that is Sergeant Fuentes 'missing' son?"

"His name is Billy," Gibbs said, only then turning and gently handing Billy off to Ducky, who began to examine him. Abby couldn't seem to decide who to attend to first, so she simply came and sat down next to Gibbs, pulling him down to the grass, her hand in his.

Palmer was on his other side, again before he realized it, and Gibbs was disturbed by how off the spells on the tree house had thrown him and his senses. He could see his brother crying in the car and continued to watch Connor as Palmer apparently decided he was in shock and began to treat him.

Gibbs found he didn't have the energy just then to object.

...TBC...


	16. Traffic A

**Middle Son  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Whedon, et al. and Bellasario own everyone. The Decemberists. "The Engine Driver.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2005.

**Summary:** "I did not intend ter cause my son the distress I did, but my intentions matter not. By the time Liam left...he rather rightly assumed I did not love him an' he firmly held that...that belief when he...when he died."

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** I've been listening to The Decemberists, pretty much on repeat, and it's really starting to show.

**Pairings:** Rather more than implied Abby/Tony. I won't specify anything from Jossverse because we have actual dialogue for all those pesky details. NCIS is just so much more with the allusions. They're cool with everyone. I'd say I'm surprised there aren't more pregnancies, weddings, or civil unions in fanfiction, but I probably just haven't read them.

Furthermore, I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'

**AtS:** post-series with some book and canon-comic goodness thrown in for fun.

**Story:** This takes place alongside the previous chapter.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers: I DID NOT INTEND FOR THIS TO BE A CLIFFHANGER OR A TWO-PARTER. SERIOUSLY.**

**Warning for ANGEL regular viewers:** Read above. Also, if you don't like exposition and/or discussion about such -- what show have you been watching? Anyway, this chapter's not for you. Lastly, for the whole she-bang, if you remember how you felt at the end of 'Heartthrob', focus on that feeling and bring it forth.

Part XV: Traffic - Part A

_...So will be my grandson -- there are power lines in our bloodlines...And if you don't love me, let me go..._

Angel sighed and attempted to lift his hands higher, a growl of frustration ripping through him when he couldn't manage to repeat his earlier action.

"I..." Angel looked upward at his father, both understanding and offended to see the man had flinched back several paces. "I'm not going to hurt you. I don't even know what I am anymore. My...your heart's not beating anymore and mine...when I woke up -- "

Angel cut himself off and took his own pulse, feeling a fluttering he knew told him would be dangerous if he were, indeed, human. But since he didn't know what the hell he even was anymore, he couldn't say one way or the other.

Angel tried to keep from glaring at his father, but couldn't quite manage it, "Why didn't you notice your heart had stopped?"

Connor took several breaths, deeply unnerved when he stopped and nothing happened. "I...I was distracted..."

"From your heart not beating, really?" Angel snapped and Connor bristled.

"Liam. I do not care what ye've done or who ye've become at this point -- "

"That much is obvious -- "

"Hold yer tongue," Connor snapped, himself, bringing forth another mutinous growl, but Connor held his ground, turning and beginning to pace.

"I don't care abou' any o' the things I'm quite unwillin'ly rememberin'. You are my son an' I am yer father -- just as you are ter yer own children. You tell yer own sons, in particular, ter treat me with respect but refuse ter do so yerself, even though yer and myself are seemingly feelin' the same emotions just now -- confusion, anger, an' overwhelming sadness."

Connor paused, forcing himself to breathe and balled his fists, keeping his eyes on his son, who sat in the bed, a mixture of remorse and anger on his face as he breathed deeply, his body beginning to slump forward with exertion once more.

"You will tear yer stitches again an' undo the barber's -- "

"Dr. Donald Mallard, M.D., M.E.," Liam interrupted again and Connor, this time, stalked forward and physically held his mouth shut, ignoring the flinch from Liam's overwarm, slick skin, or his subsequent glare and even the ripple of another, this time almost silent growl. Connor gently pushed Liam back onto the mound of pillows behind him and stepped back, this time continuing to watch Liam instead of pace.

"The _doctor_, then. I am speaking, you _will_ be quiet. I did not realize my heart had stopped fer the same reason you did not immediately understand that yer own had begun beating. We had more important things ter worry abou' and still do. Yer sons're out doin' the Lord only knows what -- "

Connor held up his hand, forestalling Liam's burgeoning objection that he knew perfectly well where Leroy and Connor were.

Sighing needlessly, he set his eyes on Kaitlin, who was still watching with extreme unease in the armchair her brothers had left her in when they'd so suddenly absconded. Her wide blue-grey eyes and her trembling mouth filled Connor with a fresh wave of sorrow, causing him to sit back down in his own chair and face his...granddaughter, it would seem.

"I will not lay a hand ter yer father other than ter shut his mouth when I need ter talk ter him and he attempts to waylay me. Yer brothers promised not ter hurt me an' I'm makin' the same abou' yer father."

Connor sighed, trying to find the right words. "I have no intention o' causin' any harm ter Liam. No one here believes it, but I do love him very much. I...I remember now, watchin' 'im buried an' how it felt. Liam remembers fightin' with yer brother in that enormous white building an' the harm he did, then -- I cannot help but recall feelin's an' memories not my own.

"I did not intend ter cause my son the distress I did, but my intentions matter not. By the time Liam left...he rather rightly assumed I did not love him an' he firmly held that...that belief when he...when he died."

Connor stopped to try and breathe to steady his nerves. He could feel himself shaking all over, tears coming forth no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. He shamefully wiped his face and then looked at Liam to see him positively quaking, his hands pressed into his damaged eyes, surely worsening them and Connor lunged to his feet, pausing to steady his hands before gently pulling Angel's own hands away from his eyes, dismayed to see a mixture of tears and blood smeared upon his bandaged palms, but managed not to comment upon it.

"I thought...you...you did not have the -- " Connor stopped and tried a different tack. "You simply did not want ter be a merchant. You had the patience, you had the aptitude -- you are very intelligent, you are not easily fooled, you would have sat easily at the helm o' my business when it passed ter you an' managed it well...but that was not where yer heart lay an' rather than respect that, I decried your passion -- not caring to comment on how well an' beautifully you do it, dismissed it as folly, ignored the effect my words would have upon you.

"Eventually, they simply sank in where they still lay, don' they? You could only ignore me fer so long an' then you simply began ter waste away, but I refused ter see. You have no reason ter believe anything I say ter yer betterment simply because I haven't since ye were but a wee lad. I fergot that boy I _love_ so dearly would eventually become a man an' make choices. I fergot ter value you an' we _both_ paid fer it with countless lives."

Connor gently reached out again and closed Liam's mouth, his other hand gently wiping at his son's dripping face.

"Yer good friend Cordelia tol' you she was both comferted an' disturbed by the knowledge that you never held any hatred fer anyone, an' you have no idea how that comferts me, as well. That you could let go o' everything that hurts ye in the face o' yer care fer...fer all o' us...Liam, I'm so proud o' you, I could burst. That yer demonic side, even soulless, never held malice or...you've known love...with a Vampire Slayer an' married 'er? As have..."

Connor gave up on words then and simply wrapped his arms around Angel, who froze at first, but then melted into the first hug he had received from his father since he was perhaps three or four, an actual sob sounding this time as he buried his face in the crook of his father's shoulder, crying quietly as his father continued talking.

"Those you've sired -- Penn, Elizabeth, Drusilla, William, Samuel, Leroy, Connor..." Connor spoke into Angel's bandaged shoulder, his voice softer than Angel had heard it literally in centuries. "Even they didn't -- and don't -- _hate_or have anger toward anyone, they _can't_. As you said, there was none -- they'd let go o' that just as you had. The gypsies who cursed you, I believe they were in the wrong. You hadn't done the things the demon had. They were unfair ter you."

Angel shuddered and Connor sighed, reaching up to kiss his stubbled, stitched-together head as Leroy had done earlier.

"O' the four o' yeh, only Darla had any o' that anger, that rage. God used her as a tool ter exact retribution fer those gypsies harmin' you so. It wasn' their place to hurt you. An' then she was changed by...by my wee namesake, sharing his soul an' innocence. But Leroy, he loves ye so...cleanly an' without reservation an' Connor is trying ter do the same. All the same, he does not hate Captain Holtz -- he cannot.

"Samuel thought that he should hate ye, he tried in earnest, but failed. Ye heard him tell ye he felt nothing. He assumed all along that he should -- perhaps that is what made your line different -- the only ones who hated were Darla, James, an' that pig-faced Master whom you quite rightfully maligned."

Angel backed away, blinking and wiping uselessly at the streams of tears that wouldn't stop, and stared at his father, his voice cracking when he asked, "H-how do you know all of that?"

Connor closed his eyes momentarily, a small smile coming to his face. "You said it, yerself, that I was experiencing yer memories an' that I didn' have the whole story yet, did you not?"

Angel tried several times to answer, but his throat wouldn't cooperate so he simply stared down at his hands.

Connor frowned suddenly, "Leroy had a wife an' daughter."

Angel's head popped back up and his eyes, already reddened, shed a fresh stream of tears. "Y-yes. Shan-non a-and K-kelly. My...my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter. Not m-my first, apparently, but the ones I knew about. They were...they were murdered. Kelly was eight. Leroy w-wasn't at home, h-he was on a mission -- he was still active in th-the Marines, then. He's a sniper."

Kaitlin gasped, a whimper escaping before she could stop it, her eyes widened. Angel shut his eyes as another casade of tears fell, remembering standing next to Leroy at their funeral -- his son arranged it for after sunset, so he could attend.

He remembered how Leroy's body had been stock-still, but Angel could all but see everything inside him quivering the way he did now and had wanted to find the bastard, himself, and tear him to pieces with his bare hands for causing his son such pain, but all he could do was hold Leroy's hand -- it had been the first time since Leroy had been a small boy that Leroy had allowed him to do so -- and try to press...strength or _something_ into it.

Leroy broke four of his fingers that evening, but Angel hadn't cared. His son could have broken his arms, legs, cracked his skull, severed his spine -- everything in the last week, really -- just as long as he didn't have to feel this pain anymore.

"Leroy found him and -- and shot him. He ended the l-life of the man t-that took them away, b-but they'll never c-come back. Tony -- Anthony -- Kate – Caitlin, the other one, her name is spelled differently -- Abby -- Abigail, though only Dr. Mallard -- Ducky -- calls any of them by their full first names and Jethro calls Tony by his surname -- they're his children, now."

Connor found himself smiling even though it was one of deep sadness. "You have many grandchildren, it seems."

"Ap-pparently so," Angel agreed before suddenly sitting up straight, though the act caused him to bite back a heavy groan, but he cast that and his father's admonishments aside to glare at the incorporeal woman who had just appeared next to Kaitlin.

"Kaitlin, move. Get over here, on the other side of Leroy's bed. NOW. Father, follow her!"

Connor turned to see Kaitlin scrambling over Liam's legs, careful not to jar them any further than necessary. She landed on the floor behind the bed, ducked into a crouch against the wall, and glanced at Angel, as well as her grandfather, before both found their eyes landing back on the woman with the scarf around her neck standing in front of Leroy's dresser.

"Father, MOVE!" Liam barked and Connor wanted to object, but did as Liam ordered for now as something about the woman radiated a sinister intent toward them all. He lowered himself to the floor and quickly wrapped his arms around Kaitlin, whom he was gratified to see didn't flinch at his sudden lack of warmth.

Meanwhile, Angel snarled inhumanly and ground out in an equal tone, "What the hell are you doing here, Lilah?"

"See," Lilah smirked, gesturing vaguely to the room at large. "I told Mercer he was a weasely little idiot, but _no_..."

...TBC...


	17. Traffic B

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Whedon, et al. and Bellasario own everyone. The Decemberists. "The Engine Driver.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2005. Durrell, Gerald. My Family and Other Animals. Bournemouth: Rupert Hart-Davis Ltd., etc., 1956. Constantine. Dir. Francis Lawrence. Warner Bros., 2005.

**Summary:** He looked back at her. "What the hell did the Senior Partners do to me, Lilah? I've spat in their faces before, they've never gone at me directly. They always go at everyone I happen to give a damn about. Why hurt me now?"

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** I've been listening to The Decemberists, pretty much on repeat, and it's really starting to show.

**Pairings:** Rather more than implied Abby/Tony. I won't specify anything from Jossverse because we have actual dialogue for all those pesky details. NCIS is just so much more with the allusions. They're cool with everyone. I'd say I'm surprised there aren't more pregnancies, weddings, or civil unions in fanfiction, but I probably just haven't read them.

Furthermore, I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'.

**AtS:** post-series with some book and canon-comic goodness thrown in for fun.

**Story:** A minor note, some inspiration for the villa (wow, I've read a lot of medical material if I write 'villi' first -- anyway...) Angel and Baby!Gibbs lived in comes from My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell, as cited above.

Also, my ideas bug the hell out of me unless I just go with the flow, as has been exhibited thus far. So -- I know that, on the cover of the first season NCIS DVDs, Gibbs' hair is clearly brown. Let's disregard that for the sake of this story.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers: YOUR ANGST IS OVER. HOPEFULLY. Yeah, um. Please feel free to kick my muse in her ovaries. They're ethereal anyway. Here, I'll help: *KICK***

**Warning for ANGEL regular viewers:** Read above and probably join in. Also, if you don't like exposition and/or discussion about such -- what show have you been watching? Anyway, this chapter's not for you. Lastly, for the whole she-bang, if you remember how you felt during and, especially, at the end of 'Heartthrob', focus on that feeling and bring it forth.

Part XVI: Traffic - B

_...And I've written pages upon pages, trying to rid you from my bones..._

**Rio De Janeiro, Brazil - 1956**

He found her on the cliff overlooking the house Angel had bought for his brother, a green and white monstrosity with more room than two people -- demons needed, decorated with a comical white picket fence and loosely surrounded with similar houses of the same type in different shades. Or maybe 'monstrosity' was just the word he, himself, would have used.

He found himself inclined to macabre suggestion more often than not these nights and desperately wanted to stop caring, but couldn't. Not while Ari so easily picked up his vocabulary and Hasmia scolded him for using such sad and angry words in front of such a sweet boy as theirs.

Was Sam the only one who could see the darkness that clung to the boy's skin like a sheen, entombing him -- or was it like an opportunistic infection, simply waiting for the breach in Ari's defenses that he knew the Mossad would eventually capitalize upon?

He was becoming distracted. Drusilla was staring at him now, her wide, mad eyes alight with glee.

"Where's Spike?" Sam asked, fingering the stake he had hidden up his sleeve. He would never take any chances, not with Angel and Jethro -- or was it Leroy (dear God, had Angel been _drunk_ when he'd named the poor kid? That particular predilection hadn't been even slightly new to Angel when they'd met, after all) so closely nearby.

Drusilla began to cry exaggeratedly, large tears beginning to roll down her face as she pushed up her sleeves and showed Sam deep gouging marks he could see had been made with blunt fingernails.

"I dreamed a Slayer and my Spike would run away from me, all golden haired and long-lived -- my Spike got angry, said he only loved me -- but I could see her, she was all over him..."

Drusilla's eyes widened and her tears dried on her face, now petulant, "She was all over Daddy, too -- deeper and more pungent, their stink of love he can't get off. I hate her, this Slayer. She was prettier than me, Spike and Daddy both think -- better in every way. So I left him first. He's finding me. He thinks it's lies but I know all the better. He's finding me and I think I'll let him for a while. I'll leave him first, though -- see him like it."

He honestly couldn't tell if Drusilla sounded angry or just more crazy. His father and Darla had certainly done a number on her, that much was obvious. But he couldn't help but listen to her words...

He reached forward and snatched her back, noticing her beginning to move forward, and glanced down off the cliff they were over. A figure in a blue jacket, Angel without a doubt even from here, was likewise halting the progression of a squirming little boy's advent outdoors and when the little boy wouldn't stop squirming, Angel gave him a light tap upside his head and grabbed him up to face him, probably giving a stern warning.

Sam found himself transfixed, staring as the little towheaded boy darted ahead, his giggles reaching them easily at this height. Angel followed at a slower albeit stealthy pace, a father lion jealously guarding his cub. _Leroy_ turned on a dime and leapt easily up to Angel's shoulders and clambered onto them. He buried his hands in Angel's hair and mussed it up, further giggling at Angel's protests.

"That's my brother," he said before he realized it, awed. "That's our brother. A baby brother."

"All light and downy feathers, warm blood some nights with buttered toast and biscuits when he's very well-behaved," Drusilla gushed, a murderous glint in her eyes now and Sam again caught her, this time snapping, "No!"

Drusilla pouted once more, but Sam held her fast. Drusilla began to watch him instead. "You love a Slayer, as well -- a little baby Slayer, like our _other_ brother who's not yet here. Part and unwhole without death."

Her true face came forward and she growled softly. "I shall give this one the death he needs to be whole. Your little spawn, as well -- I shall -- "

"If you touch a hair on any of their heads, I'll tear out Spike's heart and send it to you," Sam snarled, himself now wearing his true face. "My dear nephew will be dust by the time you get it."

Drusilla hitched, snarling as she turned to circle him and Sam saw the advantage and took it. "What do you care what I do, what Angel does? I'm the bastard half-dead son of a souled wreck and he's lost to you, anyway. You _know_ that. Even if you knew of a way to snatch that soul of his out and return Angelus to you, he's tainted just like I am. He's shared that body with the soul for sixty years -- you think that wouldn't leave a mark?"

Drusilla hissed and Sam could now tell she really was angry. "I'll clean him -- holy water and branding crosses. He'll be clean when I'm through with him, Daddy will -- and you and the bitches and the brats, I'll tear _your_ hearts out and hang them in front of him, make him remember who he is."

Sam laughed, running a hand through his hair (still cut to American military standards even after all this time -- he couldn't seem to let go of that ship...), swearing he could feel Hasmia's heart beating inside him. "My wife wouldn't give you time to get through the door, let alone touch Ari -- Ziva and Talia's mothers are the same. The one thing they agree on, that much is certain."

He chuckled this time, "They may hate one another but they love our children and you're but a vampire to them. You're family to me, as is Spike, but if I don't protect you, they'd happily kill you and tell our children the stories for years to come."

Before Drusilla had moved any further, Sam's hand was around her throat, a growl on his lips as his fangs were now inches from her cheek.

"Don't. Touch. Them."

"You love -- you love and it kills you," Drusilla choked, another insane chuckle on her lips. "Grandmummy would be as disgusted with you as Daddy. But she doesn't know what's coming..."

"If you're not going to tell anyone anything, shut the fuck up," Sam snarled again, now throwing Drusilla to the ground back away from the edge of the cliff. He stretched his hand forward, then, and whispered something Drusilla couldn't understand and laughed again as she was then wracked with choking coughs, the blood she'd taken not an hour before coming up and splattering on the grass they stood upon as she forced her body onto her hands and knees.

"Enjoy how I feel, big sister..." Sam turned back in time to watch Angel sprinting back to the overlarge house with a visibly hacking Leroy in his arms, trying to comfort him in Irish even as his own voice became increasingly hysterical. "Little brother. Don't worry, it'll be over soon, it won't hurt much longer. But Dad has to pay, doesn't he? He owes us all, and she owes you. I don't mean to make you hurt, but he has to know what it's like. Don't worry, baby brother, it'll all be over soon..."

But then Sam froze, his face hardening, as Angel bypassed the mansion altogether, instead dashing into a nearby church.

"What the hell?" Sam settled into a crouch, his fist on the ground, as he tried to imagine why Angel would possibly be taking Leroy into a church. Minutes later, he had his answer as Drusilla stopped hacking behind him and instead laughed insanely.

"I...little brother...my Spike...Grandmummy...Penn...James...Eliz

abeth...you've tried to burn us all from the insides outward -- but Daddy's stopped you, he has. He had the holy man in all his white and shining of God's grace against our dark make Leroy drink the holy water and eat Communion wafers.

"_Drink the wine, demon_, the priest, he says, _eat the wafers -- have the child drink of the wine for a fortnight, keep him asleep and this vicious death shall pass. The child shall sleep, he shall not be harmed. You shall bear this death for him..._"

Sam resisted the urge to scream, turning instead to attempt to hurl Drusilla over the cliff face, but finding himself repelled. Drusilla laughed as Sam struggled to come hurt her more before they both heard Angel, crying, leaving the small church.

Sam turned and stared down at Angel to find his hands and face blistered, staggering, nearly incoherent with rage, pain, and grief as the priest carried the unconscious Leroy beside him. Their brother was completely untouched, unburned, by what should have been lethal.

The sleeping boy was pale now, his face the image of death Sam had so wanted to create, his hair even having been turned white.

Angel was too distracted by his worry and dismay to stare around, looking for a culprit, so Sam took his exit and dragged Drusilla with him.

It was a week before Leroy awoke and, when he did, his hair had gone grey. It would stay that way for the rest of his life.

Just another thing Angel had taken from Sam, this revenge, and his anger only grew. In the background, Drusilla -- now having stopped coughing up blood -- laughed and fell back over.

Sam turned and walked away, kicking her in the head and knocking her out to keep her quiet before hefting her limp form over his shoulder as he _retreated_ like the coward he was.

***

**Washington, D.C. - 2004**

Angel stared at Lilah, waiting for her to quit smirking and answer his question. Finally, he lost patience and summoned the flagging influence of the demon that he could still feel and bared his fangs at her.

Lilah only smirked harder. "You know, that's not nearly as impressive when -- one, you can't get out of bed -- two, you wouldn't be able to choke me this time even if you wanted to..."

Lilah fiddled with her scarf for a moment, wincing, and then continued. "And, three -- you're barely a vampire anymore...or haven't you figured out what's going on yet? Though I honestly wouldn't give you too much credit for that, you dumbass, or you wouldn't be in this situation."

Connor was on the tip of rebuking this evil, vicious wench when Angel held his hand up, his determined eyes not leaving Lilah's form.

He ignored everything Lilah said altogether, instead looking downward, visibly trying to bring his true face forth and failing.

He looked back at her. "What the hell did the Senior Partners do to me, Lilah? I've spat in their faces before, they've never gone at me directly. They always go at everyone I happen to give a damn about. Why hurt me now?"

But he wasn't looking at her anymore, he was in his head, thinking hard. "They're turning me human and making my father into a demon..."

Connor felt his entire body seize violently, his eyes widening, but the Lilah bitch only laughed.

"Oh, aren't you clever -- except when you're only half-right -- I guess that means you're only half-clever."

Angel smirked derisively, "Hell's getting to you, Lilah -- you were way better at this when you had a pulse."

Lilah shrugged carelessly, "I've been in Hell all this time, what's your excuse? Even recovered from that little trip your darling little Slayer sent you on, you're less than half a cereal box."

Angel rolled his eyes, "Are you calling me crazy or stupid because, honestly, you're starting to sound like a slightly saner Dru."

"You should tell Wes that, but anyway -- back to business. _Think_, jackass. Why did demons cheat when Man came to Earth?"

"They were losing their foothold and didn't appreciate it very much -- thanks for the history lesson, by the way. They were being driven into the Deeper Well to be guarded and some of them decided they wanted to keep parts of themselves here so they could come back later.

"Illyria did exactly that but it still failed. She's stuck here without her armies or her Qwa'ha Xahn -- at least for the moment. Not exactly sure what's going on with her anymore since we're not in L.A. anymore, GET TO THE POINT."

"Or you'll what? Rip my throat out? Right in front of Daddy Dearest or your sparkly new little daughter, there, all made up of her big brother's life essence? You'd try to kill an _incorporeal being_ in front of them?"

When Angel had sat back and seethed once more, she continued, "You remember Lee Mercer, right? Mousy bastard? Well, you have him to thank for -- hell, group hugs and cookies, apparently, that moron. Lindsey, at least, knew how to plan -- _boy_, did that conniving bastard know how to plan -- but you'll try to hurt me now, right?"

Angel narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint entering them despite what Lilah had previously thought. "Did I say I would? Jasmine and Wes did my job for me, really. All Jasmine did was secure me an easy snack."

Lilah's eyes widened, "Angelus..." she whispered and Angel rolled his eyes, a bark of laughter coming forth and Lilah would have blushed if it were still possible.

"Damn you."

"Again. Been there, done that. You're so easy," Angel snorted, shaking his head. "Obviously, I don't have to be Angelus to scare you -- learned that a long time ago. Something about being willing to kill you two or three times. I meant the part where you're here in this room, _in your condition_," he added and Lilah's eyes widened further.

She was dead, how the hell could he even...but it didn't matter --

"Get. To. The. Point."

"Angelus was an Old One," Lilah breathed out, desperate to keep Angel from vocalizing what she'd been desperate to deny for the rest of her contract and then after that, as well. "The Senior Partners have focused so closely upon you because they wanted their child back. That was why you were so easily bothered by Eve and Hamilton.

"You're their brother, technically -- at least, Angelus was. It makes sense, though Hamilton was the only one who actually wanted to remain a child of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. Both you and Eve were all too willing to give up everything in the way of power for love...but you were theirs first and still are, at least partly."

Lilah exhaled heavily, now visibly angered. She was really going to get it for this. "The rest of you isn't. The rest of you is the human shell and that accompanying soul. When Darla killed you, the Senior Partners watched helplessly as Angelus -- though I don't know if it had a name, actually, then -- slipped away from them and they were powerless to do anything about it what with being on another plane and incorporeal like I am, now.

"Illyria is fond of you in her own way because you're a cohort, an equal, in her eyes. Spike is of your blood, so she likes him, too. Why the hell can't I shut up?"

Angel blinked before quickly mastering himself and smirking. "I guess because someone doesn't want you to. I gather the Powers that Be and Senior Partners have been playing Tag over the last day or so, each balancing everything the other does: we weren't supposed to survive that last battle, but we did, so the Senior Partners decided to take Angelus back by force...and they're doing it. That's why I can feel him less and less as the hours pass. His essence is going back to the Deeper Well and will stay there if I let it.

"Someone down there, though, screwed up with their plans -- I'm guessing your buddy, Lee, who's currently having his innards strung up as decoration, I'd also guess -- and now they have to figure out some other way to fix the problem you and your fellow idiots have created. But..."

And here Angel smiled ferally again, "If I refused to let Angelus leave, the Senior Partners would be forced to reverse whatever's turning me human and then the Powers would be forced to give my father his humanity back -- "

"Liam, no!" Connor burst out, forgoing Angel's directive to dash to his side. "I am not worth -- "

Angel turned to his father and stared into his eyes and Connor saw another flash of thousands of dead bodies lying piled grotesquely over one another and jerked backward, nearly falling until Kaitlin, who'd also stood, steadied his ascent.

"Yes, you are," Angel ground out, daring Connor to disagree. "And they are, too. The Senior Partners have been keeping their souls trapped in the ether every time I took a victim, forcing them to serve penance for Angelus running away. If I...the Powers will release them, and you, into Heaven where you belong. Don't you see? They're all gatekeepers -- we're all gatekeepers."

Angel sighed and reached up, his feverish hand alighting on his father's cold one, gripping it. Connor stared at it helplessly.

"God's been waiting on all of you, the Devil for some, but they're trapped. I freed Sam -- he was trapped between both worlds just as I am but not of his own choice. It has to be my choice. I have to decide.

"Illyria would have chosen to keep her full powers and destroyed the entire continent, at least. The fate of so many good people rests upon my decision. I can't let you all suffer anymore."

"Then let them take -- "

"NO." Angel snarled with such vehemence that, for the first time since their reversal, Connor flinched. "You are not up for discussion. If you rest, you rest. If you stay, you stay and then rejoin them -- rejoin the rest of your essence. But your choice to let the Senior Partners have you in exchange for me will never be equal and you don't deserve that suffering anyway. You. May. Not. Damn. Yourself. Certainly not in my name. I will not allow it."

Connor turned away and breathed in a hitching breath, forcing himself to act like the human he was. Perhaps then, Liam would see reason and sense.

"If you think that's possible, you completely ignored your own child for his entire existence -- which isn't that far off the mark, actually," Lilah added lightly and Angel snarled at her, his eyes glowing truly golden for the first time in more than a day. She vaguely noticed he suddenly wasn't sweating anymore, but was by then too preoccupied with trying not to fade away in fear to comment on it.

"Think about it, Angel," she said desperately, in what she hoped was her most convincing voice. "You accepted the keys to Wolfram and Hart willingly -- and not just for Connor -- "

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY HIS NAME," Angel, Angelus -- or the nameless thing they truly were -- thundered, his voice louder than they'd ever heard it, and the windows rattled as both his father and Kaitlin ducked away to the wall again, this time consumed with fear. "Names you are not ever to say: Connor O'Reilly -- because that includes my _father_ -- Eilís O'Connell -- my _mother_. Ailbhe O'Flaherty. Katherine O'Flaherty. Connor Allen Angel Reilly. Kaitlin Síofra Reilly. Colleen Reilly. Lawrence Reilly. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Anthony DiNozzo. Caitlin Todd. Timothy McGee. Abigail Scuito. Donald Mallard. Samuel Lawson. Elijah David. Benjamin Weinstein. Hasmia Haswari. Ari Haswari. Abela David. Ziva David. Talia David. Buffy Anne Summers. Dawn Marie Summers. Joyce Summers. Willow Rosenberg. Alexander Lavelle Harris. Daniel Osbourne. Jordy Osbourne. Kenneth Osbourne. Maureen Osbourne. Faith Lehane. Tara Maclay. Anyanka Emerson. Rupert Giles. Wes -- "

"Please," Lilah pleaded, then, her voice no louder than a whisper, but Angel heard it clearly. "Please, not...not..."

Angel stared at Lilah and she watched in terror as his features melted back to human, but his eyes remained golden. "Give me one good reason."

"Y-you know the reason," Lilah tried to reason, but Angel opened his mouth again and Lilah found herself 'falling' to the ground, screaming:

"Because of our child!"

...TBC...


	18. Traffic C

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Whedon, et al. and Bellasario own everyone. The Decemberists. "Leslie Anne Levine.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2002. The Decemberists. "Human Behavior.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2004.

**Summary:** Angel stepped back and away from Eve, running a hand through his now-regrown hair as his eyes landed on Connor. Kaitlin, he knew, understood to an extent just by the nature of her being. "Damn, this is going to be hard to explain."

**Rating: FR18** because life sucks and I like to explore that in lurid detail.

**Notes:** I've been listening to The Decemberists, pretty much on repeat, and it's really starting to show. And I've (re)watched ANGEL for far too long if half this chapter was just a joy to write and horribly, terribly funny to me.

**Pairings:** Rather more than implied Abby/Tony, though that's the only specific pairing. Such innuendo... Anyway, everything's _really_ up for grabs in the Jossverse but I am a Buffy/Angel shipper (well BtVS, S3 core ships, as whole, really) so be prepared.

Furthermore, I am also a Gibbs noromo and don't see any of the chemistry hailed between Gibbs and either Kate or Abby. I won't apologize, but I will make offering of the back button if you so choose.

**Timelines:** **NCIS:** post-'Hung Out to Dry'.

**AtS:** post-series with some book and canon-comic goodness thrown in for fun. Plus, I just rewatched 'Power Play' and 'Not Fade Away' as a bit of a refresher course. *nods* Still so good after nearly six years...

Also, anyone who's read ANGEL: After the Fall and the continuing saga afterward so far might recognize the allusion to a certain _cockroach_ comment...which, (un?)fortunately, also fits the person I'm talking about. For all who don't know/remember/whatever the quote, " -- but he is a bit of a cockroach, so plan accordingly."

I love that line. Hee.

**Story:** Though the opening lines of Angel's dialogue with the priest will be in Portuguese, the majority will be in English. Also, the name 'Thomas' means 'twin', which I find terribly accurate in this instance for the obvious reasons. Also, I figure that with so many parents in the mix, Connor and Kaitlin came with with alternating names for them, even though Darla's no longer here. Also, also, read below.

**Warning for NCIS regular viewers:** Look, I know things are getting rather complicated and that this looks to be an epic, but -- if you'll just bear with me -- I hope to get us all through this just fine.

Also, most importantly, I promise you: that I will never go into screenwriting, ever. *crosses heart and hopes to die* Also, read above.

**Warning for ANGEL regular viewers:** See above, plus primers in eight years of watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and ANGEL as a prep for (*takes on pompous tone*) this most rigorous test. Covered? You'll do wonderfully.

Part XVII: Traffic - C

"I detest sleep. I've got better things to do. Besides, I find it frightening - to awaken and be unsure of everything you remember about life not being just part of a dream. Waking means I've slept, and sleep dissolves what certainty I have left." - Johnny the Homicidal Maniac

**Rio De Janeiro, Brazil - 1956**

Angel threw himself as gently as he could into the small church he'd chosen his house specifically for its proximity to his current home for Leroy's sake. It had been the priest here who had determined that Leroy had a conscience and was helping Angel to train his son in not preying upon humans and in controlling his burgeoning powers.

That he took (a little at a time -- he didn't want to give the man a heart attack or stroke, thus defeating the point) confession from Angel, himself, the night they'd arrived had gone far in helping the man understand their situation.

"Crie Abelardo!" Angel yelled, his voice echoing through the room, all self-control gone in the light of Leroy losing consciousness and his little body covered in the blood he'd vomited, still shivering and now Angel couldn't feel any heat coming off his body. "Crie Abelardo Câmara!"

"Sim, sim, meu filho, O que é a questão?" the priest asked, immediately picking up on the urgent tone in Angel's voice as he emerged from the tiny rectory to find the vampire holding his unconscious son, who was covered in blood that had clearly come from his mouth.

He halted before Angel and Leroy, blessing himself over the tiny boy, and Angel heard him murmur, "Mary, Mãe de Deus, tem misericórdia sobre estas almas..."

He repeated the holy rite over Leroy's body, ignoring, as was usual by now, Angel's instinctive flinch away from it. From there, he switched to English in case the boy, who was still learning both languages, happened to wake.

"What happened, my son?"

Ordinarily, Angel would wince uncomfortably and insist that he was no one's son, let alone God's, but to Crie Abelardo's fleeting relief, his worry was too great to deny his own ability to be salvaged.

"We were out, I was going to take him to play like usual -- but, then he just fell over and started -- he started..."

Angel's legs gave out underneath him and Crie Abelardo hurriedly took Leroy before Angel could fall to the floor with him and whispered a quick prayer for them both as Angel started to panic. "I don't -- I don't -- "

"You must gather yourself, _Anjo_, your son needs you!" the priest admonished and Angel's quickened habitual breathing began to slow.

A moment later, Angel pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor and started to purposely draw the shapes of crosses on the floor beneath him with his fingers, but Father Abelardo's foot, as had become habit, gently but quickly arrested his self-harming ministrations.

"You do not dare desecrate yourself before God nor your son," the priest sternly reprimanded yet again and Angel reached up, roughly raking his hands through his hair so that it finally stood on end. "Stand and be strong, for God, for yourself, and for your son who will not see morning without you!"

Angel's widened eyes locked onto Father Abelardo's and he quickly lunged to his feet, tempted to take up one of the crosses or bibles sitting in the pews around him out of fear, but resisting the urge as he had been told.

"It matters not what did this, there is not time to care. Here, come!"

The white-haired priest, in reality much younger than Angel, of course, strode quickly to the altar and brought out the chalice and the wafers for Communion. "Take of the blood and body of Christ, that at least will have purpose."

Angel quickly blessed himself, withstanding the searing of his flesh as he kissed the cross Father Abelardo had given him before the priest took it so he couldn't clutch it and burn his hands further.

The priest frowned, resigned to this second part, no matter how much he detested re-affirming Angel's self-hatred.

"Drink the wine, demon -- eat the wafers -- have the child drink of the wine for a fortnight, keep him asleep and this vicious death shall pass. The child shall sleep, he shall not be harmed. You shall bear this death for him. The darkness inside you shall take that which is engulfing your son and hold it, keeping it and locking it away."

Angel quickly obliged, nearly choking on the fiery feeling of the holy sustenance going down his throat. Once it was done, Angel fell forward onto his knees and hands, struggling not to vomit as terrible heaves overtook his body.

"You must stand, you must walk, _Anjo_," Father Abelardo was telling him now, taking hold of his arm even as some of the holy water came back up, burning his mouth and chin all over again. The priest took the cloth for the chalice and wiped Angel's face, forcing himself to ignore Angel's near-scream as he bit back the pain. Blood was now leaking from his own mouth as he struggled to stand and allowed Father Abelardo to carry Leroy and herd him from the church, as well.

He didn't know how many times he fell on the way back to the house, or when they actually got there. Everything inside him was screaming in pain, he was hemorrhaging everywhere, his very tears turning to blood. It filled his ears, his nose, bubbling from his mouth as he hit the ground again and again. Each time, the priest helped him to his feet, but Angel didn't hear his words.

***

He was lying in his bed the next time he regained consciousness, Father Abelardo having moved Leroy's own into the room, as well, to keep vigil over them both. Angel tried to speak, but his voice was completely gone, his throat a great flame as the water and wafers consumed all they touched. He looked down to find his chest covered in blood before looking to either side of his head to find the same. He attempted to lift either of his arms, but found he was too weak to do so.

"I assure you, Anjo, wherever you think there is blood, there surely is. You've lost enough for at least ten men. But you've saved your son, you will be gratified to know..."

Crie Abelardo was sitting between himself and a still-slumbering Leroy, a bible in his hands that he closed as he realized Angel was conscious once more. Angel tried to look over at Leroy, but found he couldn't as his neck had again gone stiff.

_I feel like I've been hanged again._ he thought blearily. It surprised him that the thought wasn't bitter, as it had been before Jethro's birth. He sighed silently, frustration coming to him as he wanted to see his little boy, but couldn't.

The priest, to his surprise, gave him a gentle smile and turned to carefully lift Jethro into his arms and slowly prop him up so his father could see him. Angel's eyes widened in dismay and he tried to speak. _His hair!_ Angel thought wildly, despair falling over him again. _He's still infected!_

But the priest was still smiling, shaking his head at the look on his face. "I assure you, _Anjo_, his hair should not be a worry, for he is _alive!_ It turned white when you first arrived and was black by the time we lay him down, but now there is color in his face. I believe this turning of his hair to gray is but a scar of sorts. You bear far worse injury, I assure you.

"I have examined each of you many times over the previous hours and he bears not a burn, not a bleed, not a welt -- nothing. You have swallowed that sickness for him and I believe he reflects your soul for you, at least in that your demon is still there to torment you. He will not, cannot lose his connection to you, cannot you see that?"

Crie Abelardo sighed, laying Jethro down once more and unexpectedly taking up Angel's hand instead. "As you are his father, so he is a reflection of you."

If Angel could have moved or spoken, he would have expressed what a curse he felt that to be, but the priest seemed to know what he wanted to say and, instead, shook his head. "I only pray you realize how wrong you are, my son. I imagine whatever Childer you have Sired and he who Sired you have fared far worse, though you've likely relieved even their suffering. I pray you receive your due reward for such selflessness, whatever you think..."

Angel wanted to stay awake, to watch Jethro for himself, but he simply couldn't manage. Yet another failing to add to so many.

***

**Washington, D.C. - 2004**

_...Fifteen years gone now, I still cling to the petticoat of a girl who died with me..._

Gibbs calmly lay the groggy Billy Fuentes on the blanket covered slab in the morgue where Ducky would better examine him. His clothes and slippers had been taken and bagged as evidence and he was wrapped in further blankets, his head cradled in Gibbs' bare arm as Ducky carefully sponge bathed him and dressed him in a much oversized NCIS t-shirt and a pair of the boys' boxer shorts they'd stopped on-base to get him, both Kates and Tony staying behind to buy him more clothes to be given later.

Wes was quietly arranging the dissection and interment of Billy's mother in a nearby demonic crypt with the rest of his family being sent to the hospital's morgue until Billy was out of Ducky's and he could dissect them without the little boy having to see them in such a state again.

Abby hovered nearby, wringing her hands, still, as Ducky moved to Billy's matted, oily hair and washed that, as well.

"Is he still in shock?" Gibbs asked, having grabbed a stool so he didn't have to let go of Billy's hand.

Ducky shook his head, reaching for a scraping brush to remove the various foreign and not-so build-up from Billy's head, "His temperature has normalized, the color has returned to his skin, the sedation from the spell is wearing off. I would say no. He's simply under a great deal of stress and his body is slowly adapting, I'd say.

"Abby took some of his blood and it's being analyzed at the moment -- no, Jethro, it won't be ready for quite some time, nor will the blood from his clothing. The best we can do right now is get him cleaned up and redress that wound he bit into his hand when I'm finished here, before he gets his new clothing and I suppose you'll go from there, figuring out a place that will take him."

"Angelus..." Billy muttered, his voice slurred from the mild sedative Ducky had given him earlier when he'd begun to panic after finally emerging from his coma.

"These demons knew Pop and they knew about me, that I'm his son and that Connor is, too," Gibbs disagreed, gripping Billy's hand tighter.

"Plus, he knows me already -- I think someone set this in motion. The Priestesses said something about an 'abomination' that, even after death, sent something to destroy them. They sent that message asking our family to care for him. We will. It ties back to Pop through me and even Connor, I just don't know how."

It was then that Tony and each Kate came bursting through the doors into the lab, prompting Billy to jump up, soapy and half-naked, still partially unwashed, and dash into Gibbs' arms, where he clutched at every part of Gibbs he could reach, whimpering inhumanly while the latter gave both his agents and the former detective his best glare yet.

"Did you it ever occur to you three that he might be awake?" Gibbs snapped, gripping the boy to himself, heedless of the soap and water dripping all over him.

Tony winced visibly while Kate Todd backpedaled a couple of paces while Kate Lockley stood her ground, nodding and apologizing immediately, "Our apologies, sir, we didn't think. We'll do better next time."

Gibbs sent her another glare and snapped, "Don't call me 'sir'."

"Respectfully, _Gibbs_, I don't work for you," Lockley said evenly, raising an eyebrow as Gibbs managed to unfurl Billy's limbs from around his torso and sit him back down on the slab, taking hold of his face and keeping eye contact as Ducky began bathing him again, relatively unphased by Gibbs' anger.

"Then why are you still here?"

"Delivering clothes, or did you forget, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs glared at her yet again, but Kate didn't back down, only sighing. "Look, I know you're trying to intimidate me right now and the fact that you're part-demon should probably add to that, but your dad's got you beat in the glare department, sorry. Not to mention, you forget I do demon-related stuff for a living now. I'd love to say you scare the living crap out of me but I've had some time to research you, Agent: you've never killed when you didn't have to, you've never taken human blood, and, frankly, the kids on-base adore you, say nothing of the one currently in yours and Dr. Mallard's care.

"_So_ I _really_ don't understand why Agents Todd and DiNozzo are ready to crawl into those cabinets over there -- the ones you and Connor didn't destroy, that is. Todd can be put down to 'new agent jitters', I mean, she's fresh out the box with NCIS, apparently, but DiNozzo has absolutely no excuse. He's been here for years. All the same, you'd think they'd research their boss..."

Gibbs could just _feel_ Abby grinning madly and Ducky didn't even bother to hide his chuckling.

"Well, it's alright, I've got several replacements ordered, they should be here very soon. And to be fair, Ms. Lockley, again, they don't have the resources you have access to, nor any previous firsthand experience with the demonic world until quite literally two days ago. They're still getting their feet wet, to be honest."

Ducky grinned, then, "Give them a week and if they're still not up to scratch, you can lock them in a box with a vampire and -- "

"DUCKY!" Both Tony and Kate objected loudly, their voices echoing through the morgue, before they could stop themselves, but this time Billy only gave a small smile in response.

Gibbs waited for Ducky to finish rinsing Billy off before giving him a kiss on the top of his head and Lockley grinned, but honestly tried to tone down the smugness.

"See, Other!Kate can tell you're a big teddy bear, just like Angel, so I don't know why you even try and hide it, Gibbs." Abby giggled, bouncing over to Tony and Kate Todd and carefully taking the clothes from them, giving each their own kiss on the cheek for good measure. "Come on, you guys, once you get used to it, it's just like any other case. By the way, Kate _Lockley_, Gibbs is my Gibbs, you can't have him. MINE. _I'm_ his favorite and you can't have my spot!"

Kate grinned, "Yeah, I heard something about a silver-haired fox earlier and Connor being a lucky charm?"

Abby grinned even more widely and winding her way over to help Gibbs dress Billy in the cargo pants and graphically designed Superman t-shirt they'd bought. "Oh, totally -- I mean, surely you've noticed -- and Tony, don't give me any of that -- it's just a fact. As for Connor being my lucky charm, I'd actually call them both that. Anything that can make Angel smile the way they do is pretty freaking lucky. Huh. Where'd this Superman shirt come from? They don't sell these on base."

Kate Todd took a deep breath, resigning herself to the situation once more and answered Abby's question, "Tony insisted that Billy had probably had enough of looking like every other kid in his class, so we actually went to the mall. Which is what took us so long. I'm never letting him drive again."

"Better me than Gibbs," Tony shot back, glancing at Gibbs and getting ready to duck before realizing he literally had his hands full of Billy, was too far away, and couldn't do much more than roll his eyes.

"DiNozzo, slap yourself. I've got an armful of seven-year-old."

Everyone other than Gibbs, Billy, and Tony laughed and the latter sighed, giving himself a smart tap on the back of the head. "Going to see if McGee's done cataloguing all the evidence, boss." And with that, he left the morgue.

Kate bit her lip and resisted the urge to take her frustrations out on the other Kate by glaring at her the way Gibbs had done. Lockley sighed and silently invited her to sit on a vacant slab as they watched the proceedings.

"I'm serious, you know," Lockley said, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to make an enemy of you. I know everyone keeps comparing you to Agent DiNozzo right now so I won't do the same, but this is big stuff. Don't feel insulted or ashamed that you're not diving in headfirst."

"That's what Mr. Wyndham-Pryce told me earlier at the scene," Kate admitted quietly. "Right as you walked up with Gibbs. He told me that'd be a sign of mental instability."

Lockley snorted. "Ah, Wes. He never does pull punches. I wasn't sure he knew what a joke was -- or that Angel did -- until I got to know them a bit better. I haven't been in L.A. for a few years now, but lo and behold, Angel's got an email address. Their friend Cordelia made him get one.

"I also understand that once Connor was born, she painstakingly forced him to learn how to use a cell phone, voicemail, and call waiting and blocking. Something about him ignoring or forgetting his pager half the time. Oddly enough, he can use a computer and the internet, itself..."

Todd chuckled despite herself and honestly couldn't imagine it. "That's -- that's just so weird. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce said that Angel was twenty-six when he died and Angel told Connor that if he ever becomes human, Abby'd be older than he is."

"Which I will totally take advantage of!" Abby crowed gleefully from where she was now working a new pair of shoes onto Billy's feet.

"Most demons are the kind you think they are, yeah," Lockley continued, a sigh and a chuckle at Abby's interjection finally expelling itself and she looked down at her lap before speaking more quietly. "But one of things people who know about the supernatural world need to be able to do is adapt to those who aren't. Like that little boy over there or Connor upstairs. Or Agent Gibbs, or Angel when his soul is where it belongs, or Cordelia was after she was almost killed by the visions she was having.

"She told me she chose to become half-demon and it saved her life. And, even then, it didn't matter very much in the long run. A Power That Was still took her life. Their friend Gunn didn't want to be what he thought was a lesser man and his choice led to the death of the love of Wes's life. Because she touched a _coffin_. The sarcophagus that held an Old One and it sucked out her life force into itself. Gunn chose to spend several months in a hell dimension and when he got out, Wes still chose to stab him in the stomach. Gunn was -- is -- his other best friend. That very same Old One, Illyria, is still alive and kicking ass in L.A. right now and will only tolerate, I'm told Wes, Angel, Spike, and anyone tied to them. This most likely includes Agent Gibbs -- "

"You can dispense with the 'agent' anytime now, Ms. I Don't Work For You."

Lockley chucked darkly both at Gibbs' comment and at the astonished expression on Todd's face and went at a more sedate pace.

"You and Tony talked in the car about Connor and how much he's had to go through. Wes has now told you why. The night Connor was taken as a baby, Angel kidnapped one of the now deceased senior staff members of the very building he later ran and was completely committed to torturing information out of him. He wanted his son back.

"Angel put a pillow over Wes' face as he lay in the hospital that same night. Even after the two of them had reconciled, Connor was still a matter of contention because I know Wes blames himself for Connor's lack of stellar mental health and for the way Connor's life has gone, in general.

"Angel had me have a very long talk with Connor right before they left L.A. He's...got a lot on his plate, they all do, and the worst part is that they all blame themselves -- I should say _we_ all blame ourselves. Because we _did_ make those choices.

"That very same _child_ -- barely that much older than this one, and _younger_ when you really think about it -- upstairs, Angel took over the law firm he'd spent years fighting against _for_. Made everyone think he'd gone dark again until the whole thing went up in flames last week. But that was one, too.

"Choices are a huge deal in that world. Free will is already something special for humans, but for demons or even Watchers, Slayers -- who actually aren't completely human, I've found -- the Slayers, I mean -- it can mean everything -- even life and death. The biggest problem is that, even worse than humans, demons have a really hard time figuring that out. We can _all_ really do some harm if that's what we set out to do, so boxing things into 'this' and 'that' in that regard doesn't help anybody."

Lockley looked at the ceiling. "Hey, after we take Billy to Agent Gibbs' house and check on Angel and, apparently, his father -- which is -- you're calling something _weird_...the man was born in 1689, for God's sake...anyway -- you fellow agents want to go show me around our beloved capitol? Get a drink? It seems I'll be here for a while. I've taken leave from the field office in New York."

Gibbs' head snapped up, then, and his mouth dropped open. "You're FBI? You said you weren't a cop."

Lockley raised an eyebrow, "Are you?"

When Gibbs' irritation had obviously reached its limit, Lockley relented -- sort of. Grinning, she continued, "Okay, I forgot to tell you, didn't I? The FBI does have a department dedicated to keeping the populace generally unaware of all this and work with the Watchers Council finding Slayers and all that ugly crap, and the New York Office recruited me when I moved upstate.

"They have a liason here, as well, and he's letting me use his office until I get my own digs. Kind of an annoying guy, but who am I to refuse a generous offer? Tobias Fornell. Interesting combination of names, I have to say -- "

"Excuse me?"

Lockley and Todd both turned to face Gibbs, who was hard-pressed not to drop Billy, who had once again clung to him and had fallen asleep. Gibbs' face was a mixture of disbelief and supreme anger, the likes of which Lockley had only ever seen on Angel.

"Agent Tobias Fornell," Gibbs started in a clearly pissed off tone, his eyes narrowing visibly even from a distance. "Is a liason between the FBI and the Watcher's Council _and never told me?_"

"Oh boy," Todd blanched, backing away slightly despite being a good twenty feet from Gibbs. Lockley, who liked Gibbs more and more every second, suppressed a grin, nodded, and traded glances with Ducky and Abby, who were both visibly surprised, as well.

"Toby better start writing out his will..." Abby stage-whispered to Ducky, who could only nod and agree.

***

_"Go where?" - Eve, Not Fade Away; AtS, 5.22_

Angel lifted an eyebrow, the rest of his face carefully blank. Lilah had tears sliding down her face now, something he found rather intriguing.

"You son of a -- "

Father covered Kaitlin's ears and Angel inwardly chuckled at how annoyed she was when just a moment ago, she was rather upset. Albeit, at him. He'd have to make sure to apologize for that as soon as possible.

"You fucking bastard," Lilah bit out, angrily wiping away the tears she wished weren't there.

"You're one to talk, Lilah," Angel said calmly. "All I had to do was wave something small, metal, and pointy at Linwood and he told me everything I needed to know about why they wanted my youngest son, not that I hadn't known already. Wolfram and Hart wasn't exactly first in line, if you recall."

Angel faked a disenfranchised expression then, thoroughly enjoying working her up after everything she'd put his family through. "I for one think it's unfair that you get to stay pregnant in your current incorporeal state at all. Darla changed but you obviously haven't. Gee, what gives me any reason to believe you wouldn't kill it -- "

"Her," Lilah snarled before she could stop herself and she closed her eyes against Angel's smirk. She hated him with every bone in her body, never mind that he was a child of the Senior Partners. Marcus, Angelus, Eve -- none of them were worth their trouble. At least two of them were dead.

"My mistake. I think my brother should know about my niece. It's only fair." The false expressions had left Angel's face now, he was quite serious.

"Wesley's not -- "

"Shut. Up."

Lilah's mouth snapped shut and she forced herself to turn away from Angel and take several breaths, compulsively checking the scarf around her neck. It tended to fill with blood when she got especially upset, though she wasn't sure how that could be accomplished given her lack of a pulse.

Enough.

Lilah turned back around and walked up to Angel, her best disaffected look on her face. "You wouldn't tell Wes about our daughter because you wouldn't break his heart about something he can't have. I'm dead, Angel. So is she. She'll just stay...stay inside forever, even after my contract is up, finally, she'll stay there and -- "

"Not if I send her somewhere where she can grow and be born..."

"You can't do that!" Lilah burst out before she could stop herself. She paused before recovering her nerve and snapping, "Not even Angelus in his purest form could -- "

But Angel cut her off. "Uh, is that why Darla was able torment me for months before I finally lost it and got a _miracle child_ out of it? Because Wolfram and Hart can't bring anybody back from the dead?

"And you forget? Marcus, Eve, and I are -- as you, yourself, said -- Old Ones, which are capable of reincarnation when they feel like it -- _or_, in the case of we in the Triad -- my brother, sister, and I -- when one of three of us calls out to another.

"I'm quite happy to keep my pain in the ass older brother where he is in the Deeper Well, but -- " Angel's voice regained the ringing, ethereal quality it had later when forcing Lilah into her oath and he called, "Eve!"

Lilah's eyes widened and she began shaking her severed head from side to side, "But -- but that Jolly Green -- "

"Yeah, nobody wishes Lorne hadn't had his sleep removed more than me, now if you'll excuse me I have to sleep with -- oh, dear God -- _speak_ with my _other_ little sister, so if you'd just move out of the way..."

Angel made a shooing motion and Lilah was pushed aside by an invisible force where stood Eve, who glared at -- her brother, apparently -- with all the hatred she could muster.

"Whatever the hell it is, Angel, the answer is no," she said calmly, her expression never changing.

Angel sighed, "Eve. First of all, you've given up your status as a Child of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart, so you don't really have the ability to refuse me anything. Second, you remember a little time when you tried to kill me? Put me to sleep and used these ugly little monsters to suck out my life force? What was that, a prank? You owe me. Furthermore, as it currently stands, I. Own. You."

Eve's eyes flashed but then she gave Angel a vindictive little grin, "Oh, that's right -- you wouldn't know, would you? You're behind the times, big brother, what with being trapped in this hovel and all: you killed the eldest of us, sending him back to the Deeper Well, and since _you killed my boyfriend_, you son of a bitch, and robbed me of the love of my life, I had no reason not to return to the fold."

With that, Eve raised a hand and Angel's body flew forward through Lilah, who ducked instinctively regardless, and crashed into Gibbs' bedroom wall, where Angel slid to the floor, every bit of healing he _had_ done instantly reversed. Before he could help himself, Angel screamed, then screamed anew as Eve stomped on his once more broken back.

"I should really go take a little trip to Europe -- see how a certain Slayer is doing? She may be the oldest living Slayer but I doubt she could stand a chance against a child of the Senior Partners, especially since you're in no condition to do anything about it, _big brother_."

Eve looked over and her eyes alighted upon Kaitlin and her brother's earthly father, who were both staring in near-shock at her, her 'niece' openly crying at the sight of her father motionless and broken like a toy on the floor.

"Or maybe I could just start with these two -- move on to my remaining _nieces and nephews_ later and your cockroach of a _wife_ after that..."

Eve started to walk toward them when suddenly she gave a grunt and fell to the floor, Angel managing to pull his deadened weight on top of her. "I'll n-never give you t-the chance," Angel coughed, blood bubbling up his throat and falling onto Eve's arm. "Besides..."

Angel closed his eyes and a disembodied voice filled the room, _We are of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. We are legion. Our blood run forth with their power, it fills us. We become it..._

A flash of dark light swept through the room and there was the sound of bones and sinew audibly knitting itself back together as Angel's body healed itself instantly. He watched, agony filling him, as Kaitlin and Father both covered their ears and shut their eyes, unable to bear the sound of Angel's body putting itself back together all at once, nor him screaming again, the loudest and rawest yet, as a result.

Within moments, though, Angel jumped back up, wiping the blood from his mouth and tasting it, before he hauled Eve to her feet, his eyes no longer brown, but a _silver_ that seemed out of place in his face to Connor but to Eve, familiar as the sound of his voice. "Gotta thank our extremely pompous older brother for the inspiration behind those lines," he taunted hoarsely at first, his voice normalizing as he spoke. "M-maybe I wi-ill when I get the Oscar for Best Actor - I should work on my speech now..._I'd like to thank the Academy..._"

Angel slammed Eve into the wall she'd just used against him and ignored her resistance. "If you're done throwing tantrums, little sister, I've got a proposition for you."

"I don't care."

"Will you _listen_ before you reject the best thing that ever happened to you? I'll give you a trade -- you agree to carry Wesley and Lilah's daughter and give birth to her and I'll give you Lindsey back. Of course, you'd have to agree to live here, but you'd be under my aegis. Fair trade, no? One should always make trade fair, after all."

Eve opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She blinked and tear rolled down her cheek. "I don't trust you, I have -- you're the one who took him from me -- ordered one of your _lackeys_ -- "

"I have friends, not lackeys. Yes, perhaps, no, I _know_ they do too much for me, but this also means that they have favors (tons of them, really) to cash in. This is definitely one of them."

"He took your son and you'd give him a daughter?" Eve's tone was beyond incredulous at the very idea.

Angel held back a scowl and carefully kept his face blank, "Yes. He didn't do it for the reasons any one of us would have. Don't tell me about people not caring about anything. I already had that chat with Marcus and look how that turned out."

"You don't even remember your real name, do you?" Eve said unexpectedly, trying desperately not to think of what Angel was saying, trying not to believe him. "Do you have any memory at all of who we are? Who _you_ are? Why were you so desperate to get away from us? Why did you leave me?"

Angel gave Eve a reluctant smile. "I keep playing the same role over and over again, don't I? And I always end up hurting a girl in the process...My name was -- is -- Thomas. There were three of us. Marcus -- he took the surname after coming to Earth to look for me, I suppose. I guess they all knew I'd leave eventually. The Deeper Well is rather, _well_ -- boring. But I just got stuck in another boring place when I got here, didn't? Or so I felt.

"I can't help it. Everywhere I go, I end up leaving for some reason and I usually leave a girl behind. Unfortunately, it's been you twice, which is more often than anyone else -- even Buffy. By the way, don't call her a cockroach when I have such easy access to your trachea. You might not _stay_ dead, but you would be for quite a bit. Resurrection takes all that planning, after all."

Angel stepped back and away from Eve, running a hand through his now-regrown hair as his eyes landed on Father. Kaitlin, he knew, understood to an extent just by the nature of her being. "Damn, this is going to be hard to explain."

Angel sighed, "Besides, if our Fathers had wanted complete control over the two of us, they probably shouldn't have chosen two human women as vessels for our creation. That, we call pregnancy in these parts." He gave her a slight lopsided grin and turned around to face the other woman in the room.

Angel's eyes landed back on Lilah, who was staring unabashedly at him now, fear simultaneously keeping her in place and obviously urging her to flee. "Wow, they really don't tell you people anything at all, do they? You thought the Senior Partners wanted to kill me all this time." He ran his hand through his hair, flinging a hand to the room at large.

"Look, Marcus was the one who loved all that apocalypse crap -- fire and brimstone, that's his thing. Eve and I, well, we're more like Illyria -- or we were. If it didn't affect us, we tended to look the other way."

Angel looked back at Eve, who was actually smiling at him now, finally seeing her brother in this creature after all this time. She frowned, though, when Thomas was buried again by the human Soul and Angel was back. "Your friends, your _wife and children_ won't accept you for who you really are. They'll throw you away."

Eve glared at Angel's earthly father, whose eyes widened, "They always do."

Angel sighed, "Eve, you were a Child and you gave it up, just like I did. You feel things, just like I do -- you know why they wouldn't just abandon me. The same reason Lindsey wouldn't have until I had him killed. Love. You and I know what that's like, how it feels.

"Marcus never cared to and we've lived better lives than he has for it. And we've been loved in return. Nobody willingly gives that up."

Angel reached up and wiped Eve's teary face with his thumb, "Do this for me. Wes did everything in his power for me and you'd let that go unrewarded? I thought you and I cared about fairness? Wasn't that why we were angry with the Wolf, the Ram, and Hart -- with the Powers That Be in the first place? Because they don't give a damn about fairness? They just handed everything out that the Superiors told them and watched the shitstorm."

Eve's eyes widened, this time and she shuddered, turning to glare at Lilah now. "I'll do you and your friend one better, brother," she said without looking at him and narrowed her eyes. Her eyes glowed silver for a moment before she commanded, "Live."

Lilah gasped, falling to the ground as her body mended itself and time caught up with her body. "Oh, God," she gasped again as she felt her throat knit together and the gash in her chest close. When she looked down, she could simply tell how far along she was.

"I -- "

"Be quiet. You already know I didn't do this for you." Eve commanded before turning back to Angel. "I'll stay here like you said, but I'm not taking on anyone's parasite, not even at your behest. The only child I want to bear is Lindsey's, now hold up your end of the deal."

Angel pursed his lips before sighing and going to answer but Eve cut him off.

"Would you truly want either the Slayer to carry or Darla to have carried anyone's child but yours? Would you have accepted it if Leroy's biological father had suddenly shown up, saying he was taking him from you? You'd have rendered him limb from limb and we both know it."

Angel didn't say anything, only nodding darkly. This time, it was Eve, who was continuing.

"She'll be under my aegis as much as yours. Besides, just because you owe Lindsey a fight doesn't mean you have to spare him your wrath."

Eve sighed in frustration and finally locked eyes with her brother. "I fully admit he's made your life inordinately difficult, _Thomas_. I could list his sins but you haven't forgotten them. The important thing is that you bring him back to me as I have her for your friend."

Angel took a second to sulk and more time to converse with the Wolf, the Ram, and Hart before calling out, "Lindsey McDonald, live."

There was another flash, this time of reddened light flashed and a body fell into the room, obviously having borne the brunt of a great deal of torture. When he spoke, it was merely a groan. Eve turned and opened her mouth to curse her brother, but Angel held up his hands.

"I only had Lorne shoot him." He considered for a second. "I mean, I said at least twice just to make sure, and they're obviously there -- the bullet holes, but that other stuff? That was probably that one demon with the ball gag who likes to stab people with hot pokers, cut out their hearts, and put them in that gibbet. Marcus loved that guy.

"Anyway, when we found Lindsey the first time, he was in the same Hell Gunn was sent to -- the one with the basement. They probably sent him back there."

Eve nevertheless fumed at Angel for a moment before bending down and running her hands over Lindsey, obviously intending to heal him, but nothing happened.

"They won't let me heal him," she said softly, anger at this slight plain in her tone. "They'll let me have him but he can only heal on his own."

Angel frowned and tried really hard to care of his volition, but could only muster honest contrition when Eve glared at him. "Look, Wes knows a lot about healing salves and things like that. I-I'll ask him..." Angel bit down on his pride and forced out the words, "I'll ask him if he can do anything. Maybe he can even use some magick to heal him. Obviously, you and I are out of it."

Eve was tempted to hit him again but instead only asked, "Could you maybe enjoy it a bit less? Or at least wait until I can't see you?"

Angel shot her an incredulous look, "You threatened to break my Slayer's spine, I'm enjoying every bit of this. Especially because I didn't do any of it. He brought that on himself and you know it. If he wanted to avoid the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart's wrath, maybe he shouldn't have stabbed them in the back. The front, too, now that I think about it..."

"Wait," Connor finally cut in, completely out of sorts. "I am...I am so confused."

Kaitlin sighed at her grandfather's unknowing echo of Agent Kate's own words, taking her grandfather's hand as they watched Eve ignore them and haul Lilah to her feet before she, Angel, and a visibly exhausted Lilah sat down in the chairs they'd used themselves.

Eve tried to put Lindsey in Leroy's bed, but Angel frowned and shook his head resolutely, mouthing the words, 'hell, no', a flat expression on his face, before picking Lindsey up and carrying him to another room, himself.

Eve followed and, for some reason, Kaitlin didn't speak until they had returned and seated themselves beside a visibly seething and disturbed Lilah, who had to struggle not to move away, afraid she'd be disemboweled for it.

Kaitlin first invited her father's father to sit back down on the floor against the wall and settled into the crook of his once-again warm arm, filling him both with relief and grief but a sense of calmness overtook him and he glanced at Angel, who was watching them both intently. Then Kaitlin began to speak.

"_Seanathair_, it's rather a long, convoluted story, I'm afraid. Before Papa was born, part of his essence resided with the other Old Ones in the Deeper Well, which was guarded by Drogyn the Battlebrand (she purposely ignored her father's flinch at the mention of his unjustly murdered friend, knowing it would be a curse to bring Drogyn back to this world when he'd likely have moved onto the ethereal planes by then).

"There was a Triad individually calling themselves Marcus, Thomas, and Eve. Two of them, Thomas and Eve had previously been asked to wreak havoc between the remaining demons using forms created by infecting human women. They gained human attributes and eventually, Thomas, especially, grew tired of the Deeper Well. Thomas came to Earth first in the form of a baby boy my grandmother named Liam, which you know means 'Protector'..."

Lilah looked away from Kaitlin, if at all possible, even more unnerved.

"She doesn't sound human."

Angel didn't answer, simply turning and glaring at her with both sides of his essence and Lilah felt her heart jump into her throat for the first time in two and a half years. The sight of golden eyes outlined in silver out of that otherwise familiar face was completely unnerving.

"Be. Quiet."

Lilah turned back to watch Kaitlin talking to Angel's father, who was whitened, himself, yet undeniably intrigued.

"...So it's a little like a Greek or Roman tragedy, complete with demi-gods, except with ancient demons instead. Like the Grigories from Heaven who felt sorry for the human beings suffering down here and wanted to join and protect them and so they left Heaven and married or made themselves born into the human race by possessing certain souls -- otherwise neutral human gifted with a drive of some sort -- some demons, like Papa's truest essence, did the same thing. They, though, were bored and curious about humans and wanted to know why we do the things we do. So he came here. Papa's drive is reflected in his name."

"Protector," Angel's father breathed out, staring in awe at Angel, who stared regretfully back, remorse at his failures hewn in his features. Kaitlin gently turned his face back to hers and continued.

"Eve missed him so she came to him, but not before Marcus came here and tried to take him back, but became trapped after Drogyn and he fought and Marcus lost. He didn't anticipate that that could happen and for his pride and arrogance, the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart forced him to stay here looking for Thomas no matter how long that took, which turned out to be over a thousand years for Marcus, due to the disparity of when he arrived and Liam choosing a different area of the timeline. In time, Marcus went mad with anger and despair, just as Angelus did and Eve would have if forced to live without Thomas, her favored brother, or Lindsey, her mate, for much longer.

"Marcus, not knowing or understanding the concept of love and having no wish to, came to hate Thomas for being the reason he was exiled, but Thomas wasn't the reason. Marcus couldn't accept that his own pride and arrogance had gotten him banished from the Deeper Well. Eve, with human attributes like her second older brother, only missed Thomas, but then she -- like Thomas -- became enamored with humans and eventually she found Lindsey and fell in love with him like Papa fell in love with the Slayer."

Kaitlin blew out a breath and turned a glare petulantly at Angel, who had a tiny smile on his face. "Papa, you're turning me into a dictionary! Could you stop speaking through me, please?"

Angel's grin only widened, "You mean a storybook, _grá_. A dictionary's just a listing of words and what they mean. You wanted to make my father understand. This is the only way how and you don't know the story, so I gave it to you."

Kaitlin threw her hands up and slid down the wall. She glanced at all the cracks Angel and Eve had left in the wall. "L.J.'s not going to like those."

"I'll pay to have them fixed. Or I'll do it myself. Whichever he prefers."

"Because everything's always about choice, right, Dad?" Connor asked as he and Gibbs came back into Gibbs' bedroom, scaring Father, as well as Lilah, badly and leaving the former clutching his chest.

"Did you two pick any of that explanation up?" Angel said calmly, turning to see Leroy holding the sleeping form of a seven-year-old boy.

_"He's deeply connected to you -- if you're wound this tight, how do you think he's gonna feel?"_

Angel smiled sadly at the memory while said son answered.

"Most unfortunately it was beamed right into my head, but not L.J.'s -- he got off scot-free," Connor scowled, glaring at Gibbs, who was frowning at the state of his bedroom and ignoring him again. "I think Maman and Papa got the story, too, but they didn't say anything so I don't think they'll be surprised, but Kate Lockley's astonished and Uncle Wes would like an extremely stiff drink, if Gibbs would kindly oblige."

"He should be in the basement right now. I told him I keep it next to the paint thinner, I suppose he'll figure it out. Pop, who the hell are all these people and what are they doing in my house?"

Angel, Connor, and Kaitlin sighed simultaneously.

_...There's definitely no logic to human behavior and yet so irresistible..._

...TBC...

A/N: Traffic is now finished. We will move on with the show when I recover. *nods*

Portuguese translations: *Father (Abelardo Câmara)

*Mary, Mother of God, have mercy upon these souls...

*Yes, yes, my son, what is the question?

*Angel

Irish translations: *Grandfather

*love


	19. Amnesia

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Mutant Enemy and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape. Transcripted lines from Buffy vs. Angel. The Decemberists. "Odalisque, California One/The Youth and Beauty Brigade.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2002.

**Summary:** But, then again, this was what they did -- the odds stacked themselves against them, they ignored that and waited for the fallout. It was everything they did.

**Spoilers:** 'Not Fade Away'.

**Inspiration:** The Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU S3 novel Immortal

.

**Notes:** Like so many of my ideas, this came on so suddenly... At any rate, I'm not going to recount the _whole_ fight because you've _probably_ all seen it anyway and it's only part of the point.

Also, _currently in the story_, though not in this chapter, and possibly for the foreseeable future, Angel looks the way DB did after his haircut during season four that Joss (or was it Tim?) was flabbergasted that he'd get between episodes. Heh. I did love that haircut, it's probably my favorite look on him, ever.

Anyway.

Part XVIII: Amnesia

_Los Angeles, Two Weeks Ago_

Let me say this as clearly as I can. You cannot beat me. I am a part of them. The Wolf, Ram, and Hart. Their strength flows through my veins. My blood is filled with their ancient power. - Hamilton

Can you pick out the one_ word there you probably shouldn't have said? - Angel_

Angel wasn't actually surprised at what happened when he bit Hamilton, which was actually the part that shocked him.

Suddenly memories and thoughts he'd never remembered having, including as Angelus, were flooding his mind, strength and viciousness flooding his body along with a...tenderness he never expected.

He didn't understand much of it, it was mostly as if he was watching a video or DVD on fast-forward and someone else was holding the remote...but it was all staying in his head and he could recall every single aching second of it as though it had happened yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

He didn't stop to think of it made sense, simply going with what he'd known for so long.

As _Marcus_ finally wrestled him off, _Thomas_ was thrown backward, but this time he found he could control his own trajectory and used it to flip so that he'd land on his feet and face...his brother.

He licked his thumb, brushing the still familiar fangs, but recalling a long-ago time when they were inextricably tied to one another -- Marcus, Thomas, and Eve.

But they were all changed now, and the only one who refused to accept that fact stood before him straightening his current _boring_ suit jacket out of many boring suit jackets. Absently he wondered if he and Eve had stolen all their interest in colors and textures. But now wasn't the time for that.

"Wow! You really are full of it."

Marcus swung at him and in Angel's head, it was as if time stopped. Something inside him that hadn't been before took over and roughly shoved Angel out of the driver's seat of his own body.

The...well, hell, he didn't know what to call it -- it felt both so foreign and familiar..._thing_ that was still undeniably _him_ proceeded to destroy Marcus, finally breaking his neck, and then stepping back, as it were, leaving Angel feeling lightheaded and unsteady, though that may have been because the building was starting to come down around them.

It was like he was stuck in one of the elevators and it was crashing to the bottom. Immediately, though, he noticed Connor hadn't followed his instructions, as usual.

Finally getting the boy on his way, Angel ran out of the lobby and made his way up the stairs to his penthouse where Eve was sitting waiting for, he presumed, Lindsey. The look she gave him after he told her Lindsey wasn't coming was so familiar, it gave him pause. Right before he turned away, he saw a gleam of silver in her eyes and a new hatred burning in them that told him that if she was going anywhere, it certainly wasn't with him.

She knew perfectly well whose blood stained his hands, in a de-facto manner. But she was...his sister, and he couldn't just leave her there, could he?

_Get out._

Her voice was quiet and cold in his head but he could hear it as clear as day above the din of the falling building.

_You have to -- _

_You killed him. You had your lackey kill the love of my life and then you expect -- _

The windows shattered behind her and Angel didn't know if it was the Senior -- the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart -- or just the building collapsing, but he _did_ watch, this new part of him not at all surprised when she disappeared before his eyes, but even more (or was it less?) when he, himself, began to fade, as well, reappearing less than a block away from the Hyperion where he'd told everyone to meet.

He looked upward as he more or less strolled, his face helplessly crumpled in despair, knowing what he'd just asked his friend to do -- _what he'd just put his sister, through, even though he'd known she'd survive it in the long run..._ -- and sent a silent prayer to whomever might listen to the thing he was that Lorne didn't fall apart over this.

_God, give his pain to me, please. I, at least, deserve it. Wesley's pain...Gunn's...even Illyria's, as angry as I am at her for what she's done to Wes...please just give their pain to someone built to handle it...that's all I ask...In Nominae Patris -- _

Angel's prayer was abruptly interrupted by Spike's appearance, Angel suddenly noticing how thick the rain had gotten when he'd been thinking and praying.

Gunn was jogging up and even from this distance, with all this rain, Angel could smell the blood already having soaked his friend's clothing, the gashes in his body far more than he should be able to withstand.

But, then again, this was what they did -- the odds stacked themselves against them, they ignored that and waited for the fallout. It was everything they did.

Illyria was here now, her face probably a mirror of his, considering their other similarities. Wes was dead, she stated simply, confirming his instincts, and something inside Angel felt as if it were dying all over again.

But he pushed it away, concentrating once more upon the vision Cordelia had given him, the strength she had imbued him with, calling him her brother in all but blood and laughing at what morbid lives they'd always led, even when she hadn't known any better like most Sunnydaleans.

But she'd given him many gifts, it had only been fair for her to give Buffy one, as well, considering Jasmine's manipulation had almost destroyed their friendship and _had_ succeeded in stealing so many things from them.

It was only fair that he had to pay for the decision he'd made so long ago, see for himself the consequences of rash choices, even those made in the name of the one woman he'd never be able to...God, it was almost as if he could feel Buffy standing next to him now, angry, yes, bitter, maybe, but still loving him and...understanding.

Moreso than he'd ever deserved from anyone.

And, like a mirror image of the old days, she was the one telling him to concentrate and think of something other than wanting each other.

He almost felt like he was growing up all over again, in fast-forward, and that she was the teacher and he the lackluster student. He had been one, after all, in his human life. He'd already learned it all, anyway. He just didn't know how to show anyone that and rumination was pointless because that's all it was -- everything was moot.

The words were flowing from his mouth and he hardly knew what he was saying, but there were the hordes and he looked upward and, sure enough, a great screeching dragon was flapping its way into their midst.

And because he was always an overachiever at his screw-ups, he decided the dragon was his target.

He had a sneaking suspicion about it and made sure to keep an eye on it, despite hacking and slicing his way through the bodies of the demons that just kept pressing in on him with an ease he knew perfectly well shouldn't have come to him even in his advanced state of demonic sensory output and the strength two and a half centuries had given him.

Still, he knew something was missing and without it, his time was limited, no matter what happened by the end of this melee.

But it didn't matter -- it never could matter. He had to keep fighting because he owed it to his best friends to prove that he'd never once forgotten the so-called 'little things' he'd blathered on about when he'd needed to fool Marcus. Even as he blinked blood out of his eyes, not knowing if it was another demon's or his own, he knew tears came with it.

He was such a liar and deserved to be crushed like the ants he'd so unaffectedly speechified about.

Dear God, why Doyle? Why Wes? Why Cordelia? Why Buffy so many times?

Something hit him in the head and suddenly he couldn't remember how long Buffy had been dead, only the two times he'd gotten to kiss her before she'd left for Europe.

Strange, how he was lying on his back, rain pouring down and getting in his eyes.

Or were those tears?

He was in America and she was in Europe, a sort of flip when one accounted for their -- well, part of his origins -- it seemed he had many.

Pulling himself dazedly to his feet and shaking the water out of his face, Angel hefted his sword and turned to run, looking for the closest fire escape.

_They've come to find you, Odalisque...As the light dies horribly...On a fire escape, you walk...All rare and resolved to drop..._

He reached the roof, the irritating gaps in his memory only getting worse as he stopped to find his balance before all was for naught.

He shook his head again and tried to blink enough to see. Everything was so red.

_You'll never amount ter anythin' more'n that._

Father.

Where'd that come from? He couldn't afford to dawdle any further, he had to concentrate.

_Yer a layabout an' a scoundrel..._

I'm not that...that boy anymore. You don't know me anymore, Father. You didn't, even then...didn't want to.

_If you go courtin' trouble, yer sure ter find it!_

Yeah. I know. Bit the apple, getting tossed out of Eden...though, really, that's just the latest of it -- I should make you a list...

Angel was tempted to glance back at Wolfram and Hart -- the building, anyway -- the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart had left it. They were probably circling up there, waiting for him to fail. Just like Father.

The dragon was finally getting close enough. It had managed to toss off Illyria, who had broken the street when she'd landed, her body leaving a long, wide canyon in the road before she jumped back up out of it and roared her displeasure.

Everything was starting to ripple -- apparently, something was equalizing her power again, making sure the world would be destroyed by her hand.

_Gee, guess who?_

Angel abruptly halted all the thoughts trying to ram their way into his aching head and licked his lips, astonished to find that he was still in his human face. Brushing that thought aside, too, he gave his head one last shake before jumping, his sword poised to at least harm the dragon, even if he couldn't slay it.

He was hoping for the latter, though. Just to be able to say he'd done something helpful and made sure no one else died in the bargain.

He dreamed as he plummeted, remembering meeting the Master and being wholly unimpressed. That _other_, strangely familiar part of him that he didn't remember, had been laughing, too, then.

Dying to tell Joseph Heinrich Nest just _whom_ he was worshiping, paying _tribute_ to -- the very 'whelp' he had been trying to beat into submission. Nest thought he was a Master, he was nothing but a fledgling where Angelus was concerned.

No. Thomas, infected as he was with Angelus' poison. Thousands of years, he had on this malformed, over-inflated little insect.

He hardly needed to prove anything, none of them. Thomas only needed to bide his time, wait for the return of the Human soul and salvage what sanity he could in the whole mess.

So Nest had spilled his blood. That's all it was. He didn't even know what it was. He'd find it well after Angelus had gone. It was in Nest's skin by now.

_Go with the stallion._

The Hellmouth would be Nest's undoing. Thomas simply had to be patient and let Angelus' ego do his work for him, trapping the beast and allowing everything to unfold as it should.

_What? I don't remember...oh. Wow._

Angel fell and he laughed and he dreamed. He seemed to do this a lot.

He fell and fell, though, his sword catching onto something -- a shriek (the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart in one of their Earthly forms -- he was well acquainted with them) sounding before he fell once more and then landed once, and then again with an earth-shattering crash in what must have been Illyria's earlier site.

Something was gushing on his face and he couldn't feel anything below his waist.

Then there wasn't anything at all.

_...And the light's awfully low as our hearts become sweetly untied..._

...TBC...


	20. Responsibility

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Mutant Enemy and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape. The Decemberists. "The Island.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2006.

**Summary:** And Wes had barked a laugh then, sarcastically, bitterly, helplessly. Angel's smile held the same pain as he continued.

**Spoilers:** The ANGEL S3 AU novels, Fearless and The Longest Night, Vol. 1. 'Not Fade Away'; the previous chapters.

**Inspiration:** ANGEL: AFTER THE FALL, pretty much all of it. I'm still missing two, but they're minor in comparison.

**Notes:** I know this is getting to seem like the ANGEL...well, show. So I'm dipping into what various characters are doing right now. I'm posting both chapters at once so as not to postpone the big show any longer than absolutely necessary. And a spanner, for my fellow Americans who have yet to Google it, is a wrench.

After all, dates have been made and whatnot. Angel, in all incarnations, it seems, does love to hear himself talk, though. Oh, well. I'll just roll with it. *chuckles*

Also, stout is Irish beer, for those who have no idea.

**Further notes:** Scarification is, for all intents and purposes, a relative of general tattooing in which a needle is used to trace patterns underneath the epidermis (the visible layer of skin) without injecting ink into the resulting wound or penetrating the dermis (the second layer directly atop the muscle) underneath anymore than necessary. The result is a raised design of scarred tissue in thin lines of various shapes, without the ink of an ordinary tattoo.

Part XIX: Responsibility

_"Feelings can't be explained." - Greed, Fullmetal Alchemist, 2.05_

_Several Hours Earlier..._

Angel's feet were surprisingly heavy on the wooden steps (Wes would later realize that Angel had wanted him to know he was coming and thus not to scare him) as Wes made himself busy pouring another shot - at least - of Jethro's bourbon, knowing perfectly well what was coming.

Sure enough, without warning, Angel's hand quickly took the mug away and his friend was frowning deeply at how much of the bottle Wes had managed to down by himself.

"If I told you you were going to be responsible for the life of another and then gave you this mug back, would you drink it?"

Wes had eyed Angel through bleary, bloodshot eyes, trying to see the Old One that was supposed to be settled within the body of the man standing before him. He couldn't. He reached for the mug, but found his fingers merely skittering along its ceramic surface as Angel moved it out of his reach, his eyes narrowed at Wesley's form, still upright though just barely.

"Did you even hear a word I just said?"

"Cordelia's words to you weren't so heavy-handed," Wes said quietly, privately proud that he didn't slur his words at all.

Wes' blue eyes, reddened and exhausted as they were, finally locked onto Angel's _gold and silver_ and he found himself startling sharply, Jethro's bottle falling swiftly from his grip only to find Angel catching it with his other, free hand, his face an angry frown at Wesley, but that wasn't what the younger man was focusing on now.

Angel's eyes were now golden outlined with silver. It was completely unnerving. Wes had met Angelus before but, for the life of him, couldn't remember anything silver in the pure evil he'd seen then.

Not to mention, these eyes still held Angel's soul's glow, if without the infinite sadness and remorse.

Wesley gave up on drinking himself into a stupor and ran a hand over his stubble-covered face.

"I wasn't drunk off my face when Cordelia said them to me," Angel retorted pointedly.

"I - " Wes sighed, not even bothering to breach the point. Angel knew exactly what he was getting at anyway.

"I know. It doesn't look like it's a big change, I'm betting, but I feel like my brain has been run over by a truck carrying millions of years of memories and they're all filed and labeled for _my_ perusal. To tell you the truth, it's kind of creepy."

Angel sighed, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling even as dust still fell from his earlier descent. He didn't seem bothered by it, preternatural senses or no. He took a deep, unneeded breath and, still without coughing, continued.

"It's fine when I'm in my head and can step away if I need to, but I need every one of those memories while I'm out here, and I don't have the first clue where to start. The worst part is that I'm afraid, Wes. I'm afraid just like you are. Wolfram and Hart - well, just Lee Mercer, apparently, though the second part was all his idea and he's still paying for it - didn't just try to force Angelus out of my body, they tried to force _Liam_ to the fore to replace him.

"That was why they brought my father out of the natural timeline - Mercer wanted to use him to make me a wreck again, even though he knew he was going against the orders of the Wolf, the Ram, and Hart. He figured, he's dead - what's the worst they can do to him? Well, he's finding out now, that's for certain. He thought that if his plan succeeded, they'd be pleased with him and forget all about torturing him. He doesn't know a thing about my Fathers."

Angel sighed, looking down, finally and giving his head a little shake. "But the reversion, it happened in my head, too, except that Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Faith were there and Buffy stepped up to tell me to grow the hell up and be what she knew I could be."

"Xander?" Wes asked, now thoroughly confused. "That little prig hates you."

But Angel only shook his head no. "He's not a prig, he was just a - we're all confused and sometimes let our feelings steer us wrong, Wes, you know that. Cut him some slack. Besides, he's apparently had a change of heart and far be it for me to deny someone else that chance."

At Wes' contemplative look, Angel continued.

"From what I gather, Faith and Willow took some time to show him a few things. Buffy and I were in my memory of the Deeper Well at that point - "  
Wes' eyes widened and if he'd still been holding the mug at that point, he surely would have dropped it.

"And it was there that she finally helped me accept everything, _all_ that I am - Angel, _Liam, Angelus, Aurelius_ - all of it. It was my choice, my decision to take control and stop allowing the Powers and the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart to shoehorn me into their plans. They've forgotten - I belong more to the Superiors than I do to them, no matter who personally is responsible for my existence - the Superiors have assigned me to the world.

"They want me to prove my worth or my darkness, on my own...and it will cost the Powers, the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart: me, just like it cost them every Slayer now in existence, especially Buffy and Faith. We're not the usual Acolytes - some of us could be called saints, a lot of us couldn't - but we are nonetheless. The Powers and the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart have overstepped their boundaries too many times and have paid dearly for it.

"But more to the point, something else you're wondering: Jethro's hair is a scar, it's been completely grey since he was four years old. I didn't know what was happening then, but we were attacked by my eldest son, Sam - he was Elijah David - Eli, by then - he'd taken his grandfather's first name and grandmother and mother's surname.

"I never knew he was Jewish, actually. I knew him for what amounted to fourteen mere hours before Siring him to save everyone else who were suffocating around us. He was the only one with an engineering education, just like Connor now is getting refinement for - he had a natural talent, remember? He has always understood just how mechanics and electronics worked without explanation. Sam was the same, for some things. So, who knows, really - maybe engineering is in my blood now, too.

"I feel like a repository, like that demon that attacked us when Connor was a few months old? The one who went around stealing people and demons' abilities? We all thought it's keeper - once you lot met him - looked like Yoda. But it's like that, only I hope I'm not hurting anyone. I know that...I still can't pronounce its name _or_ it's keeper's. That whole language is beyond me at the moment. Maybe forever, but I'm getting totally off-track again."

Wesley stared, completely awed. It was as if Angel were switching from persona to persona to persona and back again without even thought, time periods, ethics or lack thereof, and speech patterns all making themselves known one right after another.

"What are you talking about?"

At that, Angel snorted, "Ah, yes, you wouldn't remember - the rest of you had been exposed to what amounted to demonic LSD and, as a result, had the memories of gnats. And even less of an attention span. Don't worry, everything was fixed."

"Oh," Wesley said, trying for reassured but unable to shake the fact that apparently there were entire days he simply didn't recall. But Angel wouldn't let him ponder his nervousness for long.

"Anyway, Sam wasn't trying to hurt Jethro specifically. It was just like when he kidnapped the three of you - four, sorry - and held your lives in his palm in front of me. I've never apologized for the terror you must have felt, by the way. And I am - am extremely sorry. But Sam was coming at me through you, just like everyone does. He said it then, 'But it'll hurt _you_. Maybe that's enough.'

"It was never enough, though - it never could be. When the Soul first came back, I was driven mad with grief and, after Darla rejected me, I wandered Romania, wishing I could find the strength - I know now it would have been cowardice - to step into the sunlight, but still my demon - _I_ wasn't able to. My instincts were left untouched.

"Hundreds of years, tens of thousands of bodies, and I can remember every...single...one."

Angel took a moment to gather himself before he started losing his grip on reality, as he had back then, "I...longed to feel...nothing, again. To be what I then assumed and now know was pure, without the humanity that had _infected_ me. The truth was, actually, I had infected it. I infected Thomas, or rather more truthfully, three parts of me infected the last part of me. Or something that doesn't make me sound quite still so insane."

Wesley could do nothing but lean against the wall, thoroughly intrigued by what Angel was saying despite being disturbed by a great deal of it. All he could do was listen, his life-long thirst for knowledge thoroughly overpowering his admittedly flagging desire to be alone. Or to run and search for a weapon.

Angel was walking around Jethro's basement now, picking up tools and playing with them, at one point taking an awl and using one end of a spanner as a trace as he rolled up his left sleeve and began carving an intricate shape that Wesley immediately recognized as similar in theory to the tattoo on Angel's right shoulder blade.

Still without breaking his skin, Angel continued to carve the blood rune on the inside of his forearm, apparently unphased when - upon completion - it glowed gold and sank into his skin before turning black like the gryphon. This one, however, instead of just an 'A', had not only that first 'A', but a 'T', an 'L', and two more 'A's'. Wesley was surprised when the spanner and awl themselves remained unstained.

Once Angel finished this first scarification, he resumed talking, rolling that sleeve back down before folding up the other and revealing his unmarked right forearm, this time, carving small letters:

An 'E' for his eldest little sister, spiteful and rebellious, though she may be - a 'J' for Jethro, the first child he ever had love him unconditionally despite his many faults and, possibly, because of them - a 'K' for his third beautiful daughter, so innocent and without hatred, as was her inheritance - two intertwined 'C's' for his father and his youngest son, loved like almost no other for their impact on him - a 'B' for his beloved - an 'F', for his first friend in the Slayer line - two letters, 'W' for Buffy's best friend in this world or any other - two 'D's': one for Dawn, his sister-in-law, who adored both himself and Spike in her own innocent way and fearlessly allowed them each to love and protect her back, and another for Daniel, Willow's first mate, and here he drew a thin line connecting Daniel back to Willow and onward to the open canvas of the rest of his arm where the dead would be lamented and blessed.

Another 'W', this time for the man standing across from him - only his third true friend - though in this case, as it had been for Angel in his own mortal life and continued to even now, it was from himself - and yet another for William, his grandchilde and one he felt deep affection for, no matter how challenging he would always prove to be - another 'A' for Andrew, who had proved himself in valor and commitment despite having been deceived to do so, two 'L's', as well as two of his most hated enemies, both meaning so much to two he _did_ love despite working as a team to bring his world to a screeching halt.

Another 'C' for Colleen, a sort of sister and _third_ mother for Connor, stepping in for the ones who couldn't be here and another 'L', this one for his brother in blood if not in time and another father to his both strongest and most fragile son, Lawrence, - two 'A's', this time for Anthony, Jethro's own son in every way that counted and Alexander's more or less older brother in mannerisms, though neither knew, and his love, Abigail, who was Angel's own friend, as well - one more for Ari, Sam's beloved fire of a boy, now a man, himself and one of strong bearing and little fear - a 'Z' for his darling Ziva, who loved her father and siblings more than herself - a third 'C' for Caitlin, the same except as daughters - a 'W' for Winfred Burkle, their beloved Fred, hidden but never gone - and yet another 'C' for Charles Gunn, who he knew had been one of only two people in his day to day life willing to kill him if it had become necessary.

Gunn's own friend Anne received her own 'A', not only for that but for her connection to his mate and the impact they'd had on one another. Yet another 'K' for one who _had_ killed for him, against everything he'd ever believed in, simply because it was Angel who had asked.

Angel faltered then, resisting the urge to attempt to reach out with his aura and find Lorne, attempt to convey his remorse and wish him well. He would heed his friend's request for now, though, unless the demon needed help. If that came to be the case, Angel would do what he always did and disregard any and all of it. For now, he returned to the task literally at hand. Or arms, as the case may have been, forcing himself once more to concentrate.

Another 'W' - this one for the little demon upstairs who was in such desperate need of protection that he was more than willing to give - another 'J' and 'T' each, for two people as yet truly unknown to even him despite how surely he could feel them in the periphery of everyone he knew's lives - another 'D' for Donald Mallard - another 'J' for Oz's cousin, Jordy - another 'K' for his father and Oz's uncle, Kenneth - an 'M' for their mother and aunt, Maureen, who had cared for Oz since he could remember - another 'A' for Alexander, himself - and an 'R' for Rupert Giles, his wife's father in all but law. One last 'K' for a friend he hadn't even known he'd had, Katherine Lockley...

From there, Angel moved onward to the dead, once more carving slowly - painstakingly - into his flesh: another 'E' for Eilís, his earthly mother and the one responsible for Thomas' creation, as well - another 'A' for Ailbhe - another 'K' for Katherine - an 'S' for Shannon, Jethro's true mate and the only one he could ever be happy with - a 'K' once more for their daughter, his granddaughter, Kelly, the pain for their loss Angel would always be able to see in Jethro no matter how deeply he tried to bury it - a 'T' for Talia - an 'S', an 'E' and a 'B, intertwined for 'Samuel, Elijah, Benjamin' - an 'H' for Hasmia - another 'A' for Abela - another 'J' for Joyce, the woman who had cared for both his mate and her sister with everything she had, trying to protect her and even himself from one another, despite the pain it had caused all three of them - for Joyce, he now knew, had felt raw and empty for causing her child such agony and, unknowingly, turning her daughter into but a shell of her former self.

Yet another 'C' for his other first best friend and the one who lasted the longest of their original three, an 'A, F, and a D', again intertwined, for Allen Francis Doyle, his youngest son's rightful namesake - another 'T' for Tara, whom he took the time to branch outward back toward both Willow and Oz, knowing none would forget the others - another 'J' for Jennifer Calendar - another 'K' for the Slayer Kendra, though and _because_ she had tried to perform her rightful duty and kill him and all his bodily kind, Darla for being the mother of his child and for showing such grace when true death had come for her at last...and a last 'A' for Anyanka Emerson...

Once his skin and what little blood had been drawn turned black, Angel again rolled down his sleeve and resumed talking to Wesley, who was now watching him with intense concentration. Angel didn't tell him what he'd done, however, having more important things to impress upon the man before him. He set Jethro's tools back where he found them and sighed.

"Sam was like that, like Connor after Quor'Toth got a hold of him, from the very beginning - empty, decaying inwardly, as all vampires do, but within Connor's _soul_, and whatever fragment of mine I incidentally passed onward - without even having taken a life yet. I more or less repeated the pattern with Connor. Perhaps their own suffering, aside from that which I wrought and, in the end, released them from, was their punishment for trying to take mine into their hands - whether Connor was taught to or not, he still had free will, as twisted as his mind had been. That wasn't their place, just like with the Roma who restored my soul. My earthly father was quite correct on that score.

"But my boys...they never could see the whole picture, never could understand, and it drove them both insane in the end. I tried to help them understand, but I didn't have the right to give either that picture, no matter how much I may have wanted to. They were - _are_ mine, my sons, I would have done - would still do anything for Sam, will for Connor. I wonder now, if my sending them each away was...wasn't me acting the reverse of my father, whom I'd always wanted to be nothing like, yet everything for at the same time. I understand Sam's and Connor's anger because it is _my_ anger. I gave them that without even meaning to. It's in my blood, my very soul. Death, Quor'Toth - those situations magnified it at least a hundredfold. Eventually, Connor had to completely shut off just to function and when he tried to turn his feelings back on, he found that he'd forgotten how.

"In the end, I am my father's son. He tried to stop me from leaving, though. Perhaps my confusion on that front comes from the fact that I've always found safety from overwhelming agony or attack in leaving. I assumed they'd want the same. I was wrong. I owe them my deepest, most sincere apologies for that - Leroy, as well - I forced him to leave my side when he was twenty-one. He didn't want to, but I was crazed with grief once more.

"I'd killed a store clerk, well, no - Faith has informed me in no uncertain terms that a _thief_ killed the kid, a gunshot to the abdomen killed him, I simply gave him an easier death, but my overwhelming bias against myself, as Leroy has told me, leaves me unable to see myself as anything other than the bad guy. I've been the bad guy, but not always. Sometimes, I'm the only good guy in the room. I've been blind to that for a very long time.

"Faith has several times, since our connection through my mark was renewed today, reminded me that I've killed simply to ease suffering. Leroy's birth mother is the utmost example. I took her blood as she was dying and Leroy was born. Without my interference, not only would she have died a very lengthy, suffering death, but Leroy would have doubtlessly starved to death within her womb. A death no child deserves, though some suffer through it anyway because the balance must be maintained.

"He almost did anyway, until I gave him some of my blood. That was the basis of my rule for my sons never to give me theirs. Sam is the result when my sons take my blood. An empty shell with no feeling, unable to take pleasure in even the smallest things. I, at least, could enjoy that. Sam could enjoy _nothing_. I never wanted to do that and never will to anyone else without it, again, being the last resort. Even then, I will feel as though I am on fire. Siring once brought rapture, you know - you've heard of those being fed upon experiencing orgasms - it is the same for the vampire doing the feeding. It's almost purely a sexual act in my kind, except in the case of healing and, even then, it still feels amazing.

"I don't doubt Sam felt the same euphoria. It was the last thing he ever felt and I am the reason for that. I understand why he would try to hate me. Even why he would fail, as my father said as he examined my memories through the connection we now share as he, himself, seems to be an acolyte of mine through some incident of the balance being maintained by the Powers and the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. Or perhaps by the Superiors, I am not privy to that information. I am not a true angel, though that be my name.

"I am the reason Connor cannot hate Holtz, though the darker sides of me wish it were so. Yes, there is the fact that the bond between the abused and their tormentor is the hardest to break, and I am yet proof of that, myself, but it is also my own inability to feel that particular emotion and passing it on all who follow me. I do find it rather ironic, however, that Holtz should incidentally rename my child with one of my own names, 'Thomas'. I doubt very seriously he knew anything about my complete past. I now wonder what may have happened had that been the case. He managed to rename my son not after my father, as I had done. but after the very thing he so reviled. Interesting.

"Though it may sound belittling, I love my father more than myself. The difference is that my father has since told me everything I ever needed to hear from him and more - the difference is that my father has desired to change. Both himself and our relationship. He finally sees me and my heart can now be filled with joy, an emotion to replace the lack of hatred and fill the space that once lay vacant."

Angel started to smile, but then his eyes alighted once more upon the bottle and mug in his hands. "I understand you will not have that luxury at this time. Who knows what will happen. I will quite readily tell you I hold you a brother and your experiments in fatality, and Connor's, as well, as his father and _your_ brother leave me stricken and heartsick. I long to help you. I want to know how you want to be helped.

"The only thing I can do for now is continue to try to help you where I can, in what I already _do_ know. As for your question as to what Xander's presence accomplished, he was shown a series of memories - Leroy's birth and his scarring during Sam's attack, the aftermath of that night with the store clerk, when I forced Leroy to leave. He was shown quite a lot, actually, in stages. I didn't give or have the chance to raise my other two sons, so Leroy was the best example. It was like that old game show, except with Faith and Willow as his hosts.

"By the time Buffy and I awoke in my memory of my homeland, the change was made permanent. I believe that was when my father regained his humanity. As an Old One, I can entertain several modes of thought at once. I believe in humans, this ability is found in geniuses, but for us it is the norm. In the world, as opposed to outside the realm of Mankind, my father's humanity was restored and my demonic nature returned to me, along with those of my original selves, this time combined to form their Whole. Angelus is no longer insane - we have all of our natures, we have our Slayer. We are no longer fractured, but whole. Any name you wish to refer to us by - Thomas, Liam, Angelus, Angel - even Aurelius - "

And here, Wes had gasped, his eyes widening almost painfully, as Angel even then gave his shy smile and nodded. "The Master and the Anointed One were worshiping me, yes, even as the Master thought kicking me around in that cave of his to spur me to show the proper _respect_..."

And here Angel had all but rolled his eyes. "Connor has humanity because of Liam, everything else because of Aurelius. Thomas may be an Old One, but his true power lay in the same as yourself and Giles, in Watching and in spellwork. As I said to Eve when yourself and my sons were out rescuing my dear Svea's young priest, she and I were never interested in all that apocalypse nonsense. That was Marcus' fun and games."

And Wes had barked a laugh then, sarcastically, bitterly, helplessly. Angel's smile held the same pain as he continued.

"When my grandchildren finally reveal themselves, I'll do everything I can, in turn, for them. Even if it means going up against the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart again - or even the Powers, or even the Priestesses of Svea, who seem to think my son and his children abominations - they were never given the full history of myself with Svea. She and I were as close to friends, siblings, as it was possible for Old Ones to be. Her death felt to me as if my world had been torn asunder, a knife in my heart.

"I could not handle the pain and sought to make others feel as I did even as I did not understand those emotions, but Thomas, as a Guardian and in utter devotion to fairness and even kindness tried to shield the memories of everything Aurelius did as Angelus from the rest of me."

Angel sighed, then, "Failure doesn't begin to describe it, though he - _I_ didn't know it at the time. It was realized it once my soul was originally returned. That is the only reason I remain on the mortal plane, the forced equal desire _not_ to destroy myself, though even that has been tested multiple times in and of itself.

"I gave up my status as a Child of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart and so lost the vast majority of my powers until I chose to rejoin the fold but today, as did Eve after she realized I had Lindsey murdered. Even she feels it was fair, despite how deeply I hurt her in the act.

"For my grandchildren, for my children, if necessary - if I can help them earn safe passage so that the Acolytes of the Powers do not hunt them down, I will. They _ do_ have a right to exist, for they, themselves, are Acolytes of the Mortal Plane, as I am of the Deeper Well, and true Angels are of the Ethereal Plane - if born, not made by the Superiors hands.

"There's a reason vampires and Potential Slayers can mate with one another and no other and I need to know the answer, Wes. I need you to find it and I need you sober to do that. I need to know if Slayers are Acolytes, themselves, or whether their demonic sides are, but only permanently dormant. More than that - much more - your daughter will need you sober. She doesn't need a drunk or a Watcher, she needs a father. If she's Called, what will you do?"

Wesley's heart skipped a beat, even after this onslaught of information forcibly penetrating his bourbon-addled mind, and he stared, wide-eyed, at Angel. "The ICW cannot have her. They took Dana from us, if - if my daughter is Called, they cannot have her. What did you do earlier - to your arms?"

Surprisingly, Angel smiled then. "Well, aside from that slight and this not being a question of vengeance, Buffy told me they've changed the rules: Slayers are no longer taken from their families, certainly not indefinitely. They run sort of - _training camps_ where the Slayers are trained for three, maybe four weeks and then returned to their families for six months. And it goes in a cycle like that from the time they're discovered. For the smaller ones, the cycles are longer with their families until they get older. The last thing they need is to forget that they are loved and human, as opposed to machines meant only to destroy.

"Their Watchers visit with the families to help them all adjust and come back two weeks later to begin the first training session. It continues like that unless the Slayer and her family are endangered, in which case, the entire family is moved to the ICW's compound for protection. As for the answer to your question: I did what I do best. It's all I _can_ do - well, two things, but the other is of no use to you."

Then Angel frowned at Wes again and gestured at him with the mug and bottle in his hands once more.

"But you can't be a Watcher, much less a _father_, for _anyone_ in the state you're in. Fred's death and Illyria's barbaric possession of her body left you in a mindset I am, as you know, familiar with. I spent most of my human life feeling as you do right now, if for reasons I didn't fully understand then. Those feelings are attempting to reassert themselves, even as the impetus for them has been destroyed. Even now, I wish to fill this mug, myself, and drink until I feel nothing, see nothing, have passed out."

Angel switched the mug to the hand holding the bottle and ran a hand over his hair, frowning as he stared at the floor beneath them, his eyes finally coming to rest on the boat his son was building. His fifth, apparently. Angel had never actually seen any of them completed, Jethro had told Wesley earlier that morning while they'd both drunk coffee and tea as strongly brewed as they could make it.

But he understood what Angel was trying to get out, especially from the remorseful and, even more, _humiliated_ expression now on his face, which Wes noted was staring anywhere but any of the alcohol in the vicinity.

"They've tried to turn you back into the alcoholic you were before," Wes whispered, hating the way Angel's mouth twitched as lines of tears came to those strange new eyes. Wes was angry but dared not show it. It wasn't even anger for himself, but for Angel, who was once again adrift in the same sea of uncertainty as everyone else when he, least of all, deserved to be.

Wesley wanted to see his dearest friend confident, stubborn, maybe out to get in as much trouble as possible, but too busy trying to avert chaos to think about hating himself. Still, he owed the man the recognition of what they both were. "The one I've turned into."

Angel gave his head a quick shake, as if throwing off a fly. "Not yet. Your blood isn't saturated yet, even then, you hadn't sunk as low as you think - and your brain's still functioning at normal speeds. My question to you earlier was whether you cared to stop before any of that came to pass again? Because," - and here Angel had looked up at him, a memory flashing through Wes' head that wasn't his - a view of a tavern and countless mugs of ale being thrown back, hope of finding relief for the despair that filled him at an empty bottom, never reaching success and always, always trying again.

Or maybe he was just trying to drown his father's voice out of his head, never seeming to realize it was just going to get worse.

Most of all, never realizing that most of his father's complaints weren't ever his fault, but that of life, itself. They were always so similar, weren't they? - "If you allow your daughter to be born and even then continue down the path you're on now, she'll hate you. She'll love and hate you in equal measure for taking the choice out of your own hands."

Wes looked over and saw Angel sitting in the chair beside him at his apparent table, his entire body screaming 'YOU REALLY DON'T SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING?'

Suddenly, Wes was back in his own body, gasping as the feeling went out of everything in him and his legs gave out.

Angel caught him before Wes knew he was there and pulled him over to the shell of the boat, both settling down on the one finished seat, and Angel hugging Wes firmly as he cried.

"You don't have to say anything," Angel had said calmly, his chin resting atop Wes' head. "It's what friends are for."

_Now_

"It looks like Wrestlemania in there, I just bought this suit!"

Kate glanced back at DiNozzo, who was gesturing down at the suit and tie he was wearing just to prove his point.

Kate rolled her eyes and pushed the bar door open, having found Abby's enthusiastic invitation way too persuasive to refuse (Kate had a suspicion Abby was very good at that sort of thing), hard rock music immediately blasting them all in the face. Her opposite subsequently flinched, obviously unused to places where conversation was usually yelled.

Abby rolled her eyes and dragged Tony, who Kate now knew was her boyfriend (she had to admit, she was intrigued) inside by his _very expensive_ collar, a huge grin on her face.

Kate sighed, giving her head a shake. She was going to have to teach these people stealth before their lack of it got them killed. At least Abby would take it in stride. Well, Todd and DiNozzo seemed to have _some_...

For a moment, she wondered how Angel, Connor, Wes, and Gibbs were each doing in their respective situations, but since Connor and Wes hadn't actually left home and neither could be considered defenseless by far, she figured they both had weapons if something broke out and would protect everyone around them.

As for Angel, Ducky, the Reillys, and Gibbs taking Angel's father out to dinner, it was the same thing, but she desperately wanted to be the fly on the wall for the man's introduction to twenty-first century America.

One couldn't have everything, though, so she sat down at the bar and ordered two Starbucks espressos as starters for Abby, shocking the hell out of DiNozzo, before following it up with O'Doul's for herself and Todd, with DiNozzo getting a Guinness, if only to shut him up.

She hadn't had to worry, however, as he was stunned by the sheer variety of what she'd just ordered and took his stout without verbal comment.

So there _was_ a way to shut up him up without hitting him. Great, it'd save her the energy.

...TBC...


	21. Persuasion

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Mutant Enemy and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape.

**Summary:** Lindsey frowned at the boxes of Band-Aids. "These are nothin', just a little prank. If any of 'em could, they'd slit my damned throat and I'd deserve it and you know it."

**Spoilers:** The ANGEL S3 AU novels, Fearless and The Longest Night, Vol. 1. 'Not Fade Away'; the previous chapters.

**Inspiration:** ANGEL: AFTER THE FALL, pretty much all of it. I'm still missing two, but they're minor in comparison.

**Notes:** I know this is getting to seem like the ANGEL...well, show. So I'm dipping into what various characters are doing right now. After all, dates have been made and whatnot. And it seems that some misadventures on the sidelines are starting to have an effect on Angel no one foresaw... *chuckles* As a result, this looks to be another interlocked set of circumstances that lead up to where I'm trying to go.

I really hope the payoff's worth the ride and I won't say any more than that.

Part XX: Persuasion

Angel tried not to scowl as he eyed the menu for James Hoban's, trying to figure out just how Americans thought any of -- well, the _majority_ of this had actually originated in Ireland. He couldn't even see any tomatoes with most of the dishes -- their biggest SNAFU by far, he frowned.

One glance at his father told him the man was far more confused than he was, so put his dismissal aside for the time being and tried to change the subject just a bit so he didn't get too irritable.

Then his eyes landed back on the haircut Leroy had given Father in the bathroom earlier that afternoon and, instantly, a smile came back to his face. He'd tried to steer Jethro away from military hairstyles but since it was likely Father would eventually meet military personnel whether anyone liked it or not, it was best just to have him blend in as much as possible.

As it was, Angel had a suppress laughter every time he saw his father run his hand over the crew cut Jethro had given him before stepping back and allowing Angel to style it more leisurely, combing the front over to the side as best as he could.

He'd never once in his life seen his father with short hair, but then he knew his father felt the same way about him.

Ducky, who now sat between Father and Jethro while across from Angel, Lawrence and Colleen, was eyeing the menu with seemingly equal distaste, but hid it with expertise. Angel and Jethro were probably the only ones who had picked up on it. The thought made not smiling all the more difficult.

Angel found himself almost _antsy_ with childlike glee at all the complaints that would take place in the car as they left the restaurant. He wondered if Lawrence and Colleen had picked up any Irish at all. That'd be even _better_...

As it was, Angel and Jethro were obviously going to have a new Rule after this: Never Take Natural-Born Europeans or Asians to American-Run Restaurants Mimicking Their Ethnicity. Ever.

That Jethro, himself, probably wasn't natural-born Irish meant nothing. Angel's own middle son had spent his life proving just that.

Angel sat back and gingerly placed the menu on the table, trying to resist acting as though it were a cockroach. But he was offended, he had to admit that much.

He sighed inwardly, though, and kept his opinion to himself. This was the only 'Irish' restaurant in Washington, D.C., and it was better than nothing. Besides, since it seemed he could actually taste food again, though he wasn't sure if it did anything for him yet, he might as well take advantage of it.

He decided, though, to assist his father with ordering, as the man plainly had no idea what half the food even was, let alone that they could afford it, some of it being meat, which the by and large majority of Ireland in their time had been completely without means to buy, even those of moderate wealth such as his father's family.

They'd more or less been vegetarians, which was interesting to him since he'd never thought about it before.

It wasn't until his youngest son had declared himself to be thoroughly tired of meat and never wanting any again that morning at breakfast, and Kaitlin promptly bringing up the ex-girlfriend Angel remembered them discussing at Connor's graduation dinner the year before and her being a vegan that Angel had given any thought at all to what their diet had basically been. He sighed now at the memory.

"Father, we're -- well, it's called vegetarianism, though ours wasn't really a choice. It just means we don't eat meat. In fact, if you ate it at this point, it'd probably make you quite sick. Jethro and Dr. Mallard, Colleen and Lawrence, they're all used to meat, but you and I aren't. Even cooked, it'd probably cause our bodies a lot of distress.

"We should stick to foods we know and possibly branch out very slowly, if at all. Even if we didn't, there's plenty of food to go around now. There were times before -- we'll have to explain them to you, me and Ducky -- but the cold was the result of and responsible for a lot more than we thought. It eventually warmed up, but by then everything was different forever.

"But it's why meat's so much more affordable now and some other things, but I'm rambling again, so just get vegetables. Ah, more than potatoes, green beans, asparagus, carrots, stuff like that's really good. And, uh, good for you."

Angel resisted the urge to glance at Jethro, whom he knew would be visibly holding back laughter at his new urge to...babble, as would Ducky, though he'd be far more polite about it. He was tempted to kick Jethro in the shin but couldn't be certain he wouldn't hit Lawrence instead since he couldn't exactly glance under the table.

The next time they went out to eat, he was sitting next to Jethro and that was that.

Little snot.

Angel took a deep breath and when the waiter arrived, decided to have his own little bit of fun by ordering in Irish.

The waiter stared at him like a deer in headlights before stammering that he was going 'to try to find someone who spoke, ah, Irish -- ah, sir. Um -- '

"Relax," Angel grinned and by now he knew Jethro's sudden coughing fit was so that he wouldn't cackle out loud in the middle of a quiet restaurant. "I'd like what goes _in_ the chicken breast, but not the chicken breast, itself -- is that alright? My father will have the same, plus the Colcannon Dip 9, except without bacon. And we'll both have soda bread. Does any of that trouble anyone?"

"Ah, um, I'm sure it's fine, sir. I'll just alert the cooks."

"_Relax_," Angel reminded him a little forcefully, but the poor kid was absolutely shaken. Angel sighed and lightly placed a hand on the kid's back, radiating calmness into his aura.

The waiter took a deep breath and nodded, "Will that be all for yourself and your father, sir?"

"_Go raibh maith agat, sé._"

The waiter bit his lip, though this time didn't panic, and simply said, "Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes, thank you," Angel allowed himself a small smile.

Colleen quickly leaned over to his ear and hissed, "You're so mean!" But Angel could hear the laughter in her voice as much as she tried to downplay it.

This time, it was Angel who held back a snort as the waiter quickly retreated to his fellows, only to once more be treated to the same confusion when he reached Gibbs, who spoke rapid, fluent Irish, himself.

Without even blinking, this time, the waiter promptly turned and strode away for the manager.

Leaning back in his chair, Angel simply regarded his glaring father with a blank stare.

"Will ye both stop it?" Connor hissed in reprimand, though Angel noted with further humor that his accent was even stronger than usual now.

"What? All we did was order," Jethro objected, leaning over to grin at his grandfather.

"He -- the boy obviously can' speak our tongue, yet the pair o' ye insist on tormenting the poor child!"

"That's not a child, he's twenty-five," Angel grinned and Connor was forced, this time, to take a breath to calm himself.

"Please stop. Ye tell me we're not in our homeland, then act like it an' be courteous, the b -- man isn' a toy fer you both ter play with."

Angel's only response was a smirk but he reigned himself in a moment later and spoke calm and precise English to the manager, who came back with the once more, though this time inwardly, distraught waiter.

When the pair had gone, Angel sighed and sat back in his chair, resisting the urge to pick up his fork and twirl it between his fingers. "Father, we're the only people in this entire _supposedly_ Irish restaurant who actually speak Irish. You think we wouldn't take advantage of that?"

"Is it that much of a surprise that that _were_ what I was thinkin'?"

"No. Just that you...I don't know, the opportunity was there, yet you seem eternally surprised. I don't know why. You raised me."

Connor frowned slightly and stared at Angel for a moment before looking down at his lap and sighing, "Did I?"

This time it was Angel who was caught by surprise. His face hardened then and he sat up straight, "Yes. For twenty-six years, that's exactly what you did. Are you thinking about what Lilah said, because it's been her life's work to unsettle and belittle me. She once sent me a mirror on Long Night. Whoop-de-do."

"A mirror?" Connor asked in confusion, glancing at Ducky, whose hand had flown to his mouth, and Jethro, who was staring at Liam in a mixture of astonishment and burgeoning rage.

Angel made a point not to roll his eyes. "She sent my team and I all _'gifts'_." And here he flung his hands out slightly to let everyone know what he meant by that. "She said they reflected our true selves. Mine was a mirror."

Connor froze, his mouth dropping open slightly before he forced himself to close it, his face falling in sadness. "She told ye you were nothin'."

Angel shrugged, making a point of reaching across the table and arresting Leroy's hand before it could impale the table with his fork.

"What Lilah says and thinks means nothing to me. She was a worthy adversary, sure, as was Lindsey when he wasn't practically rotting in one of Jethro's guest rooms, but other than that, I had no feeling about either of them one way or another. The only reason she means anything now is for Wes. And for Eve. Eve's angry with me precisely because Lindsey means so little to me and, even more than that, because she knows why."

"But I -- "

"_Da_," Angel said pointedly, Connor's eyes widening and then softening at the long-unused affectionate term. "Things went the way they did because they were supposed to. Don't think of everything that happened when we were who we were before. Think of who we are now. I've learned that from my sons and now you should, too."

When their food arrived, Angel set to work on his while completely ignoring the enormous grin on Jethro's face as he dug into his own.

It was a bit before Connor began to eat, himself, but eventually he did, then wondering if this new taste to the potatoes was what 'scalloped' meant.

Eve glared at the boxes of Band-Aids that had been deposited outside hers and Lindsey's door by one of her damned nephews, she couldn't be bothered which one of those two brats and didn't care.

Behind her, on the bed, Lindsey let out a weak chuckle, trying and failing utterly to prop himself up a little to see better. Eve took a deep breath and tried to focus on the fact that Lindsey was laughing.

But the problem was that she couldn't see anything funny.

"Girl, do you know how lucky I am they sprung for the industrial and waterproof ones? Those are awesome."

Lindsey grinned weakly once more at the shiny boxes and tears suddenly came to Eve's eyes.

"I don't know how the hell you can find this so fucking funny. Angel's stupid brats -- "

"Your nephew -- the younger one, I'm guessing -- played a prank on me. Baby, that kid could choose to walk in here and snap me back in half. I'm taking the Band-Aids as a lucky break."

"But you've paid..." Eve trailed off as Lindsey sighed, remembering the tattoos he'd covered himself to hide from the Senior Partners. "I really haven't. I...this hand of mine. I don't even know where it came from, but I do know what it's done to me. I really don't think I'm human anymore, you know. I thought when I left, I was never comin' back -- gonna go out in the world and try to do some good, but then..."

Lindsey sighed and stared at the ceiling. "I think anything in that building was like an infection. You and Angel and that brother of yours -- "

"Marcus," Eve corrected softly, reaching up to smooth Lindsey's hair back out of his eyes. "Hamilton, nothing, just...Marcus. Mine and Thomas' older brother."

Lindsey gave a weak laugh. "Angel was right when he said what all to Lilah, you know. They don't tell you shit when you join up with the firm -- joined. I guess it's all gone on this plane now. Anyway, they didn't tell us they were just trying to get their errant kids home. We thought we were supposed to kill them.

"I hear they destroyed Linwood Murrah, let Lilah do it anyway, because he was perfectly content to let Angel sit and rot -- mentally, anyway -- in a box. Content that Connor -- _their grandson_, by all rights -- was the one that put 'im there. Well, I guess now we know why he lost his head. They wanted their boy home, not out running around doin' good in the world. He's a Guardian -- _their_ Guardian, according to them."

Lindsey gave one last weak chuckle. "And I almost killed him. The only reason I'm back here is 'cause you asked him to spare me and 'cause your brother loves you that much. 'Cause he sure as hell ain't got much love to spare for me, and he shouldn't. Does it really surprise you that the Senior Partners or his sons would hate my guts? Do you even know what I did to him?"

Eve frowned, pictures flashing through her head of Lindsey running Angel over with his truck and then pounding his stomach with a sledgehammer.

"You wounded him so badly that night -- the night of the Review when he'd finally broke completely -- that it took him a full week of immobility for his ribs, lungs, stomach, and other organs to heal. My Fathers wouldn't have been happy about that, no."

Lindsey sighed, dragging a hand over to take the boxes of Band-Aids from Eve and stare at them, slowly turning them over in his hands. "I'm lucky no one's coming in here with an ax for me, let alone that Angel would care enough about you to bring me back to the mortal plane in the first place. Lilah may be pissed, but I'm just thankful Angel hasn't cut off my fool head."

Lindsey held up his right hand. "But I do need a favor from him and I need you to ask it for me because he'll listen to you, not me. Hell, he'd make me keep it just to teach me a lesson."

Eve's eyes widened, "Lindsey, no -- you'll bleed to death."

"I'm not askin' him to cut it off. I earned that one, that was my fault. You don't understand. The rest of you, Angel, you, Gibbs, Connor, even Kaitlin, Colleen, and Lawrence since they're of Connor's blood and therefore Angel's and Thomas' and everything else that bastard is -- you're all part of the Senior Partners bloodline, even if not all of you have powers, you're still conduits and you're everything you're supposed to be. I've been resurrected by darkness...to bring darkness, like I have since I joined that firm, and this hand's always been a part of that.

"I'm not asking for him to cut it off -- just to let someone who knows what they're doing get rid of this damned thing before it makes me something I'm not again, makes me too big for my britches again, makes me think I'm Immortal and a demon again. I just want to be a man. And I want to make my own choices again, not be a slave to the evil in this thing."

Lindsey frowned at the boxes of Band-Aids. "These are nothin', just a little prank. If any of 'em could, they'd slit my damned throat and I'd deserve it and you know it."

Eve sat back, biting her lip and closing her eyes. She wanted to rail against Lindsey's request but she couldn't. She knew he was right.

Connor sighed heavily and let his head fall forward to the kitchen table, already tired of his dinner. Wes looked up from the newspaper, a concerned expression on his face.

"Is something the matter?" he asked his godson, fully expecting to be rebuffed. But Connor surprised him, lifting his head up just enough so that one open eye shown through his longish hair.

"I thought what I am was a mystery before. I'm so screwed."

Wes frowned slightly, almost wishing he had some Scotch to sip before starting this conversation, but the one he'd had with Angel in Gibbs' cellar only an hour before was still fresh on his mind.

Now, Wes set down his own knife and fork, taking care as always not to touch Connor as he again took in the sight of his...bloody hell, why on Earth would Angel do something so...forgiving as name Wesley as godfather to his two youngest children when he couldn't take care of himself, let alone those around him? Hadn't –

_You're dead, Pryce! Dead! Dead! I'll never forgive you, never! Never! You're dead, you hear me! Dead! Dead!_

Wes forced himself to stop, shoving the self-hating words and memories out of his head and focusing on the elder of said charges.

"You're not a mess. You're hardly the first person your age to be confused, to want to know who they are."

Even as he said the words Wesley kicked himself. He knew perfectly well that Connor was quite singularly the only person to experience what he had.

But, it seemed, Connor was humoring him. "Yeah, well, it's even more difficult when pieces keep getting added to the puzzle. I watched my father...feed from -- my uncle, it seems. One of my _aunts_ is in there taking care of the half-dead body of the guy who's done more to make Dad's life difficult than half the assholes in that whole stupid building because they're apparently really big on keeping promises to one another. And -- wow, I'm getting another cousin. Have fun with that."

Here Connor offered him a teasing smile and Wes felt a watery smile come to his face. "I'll definitely have to try."

Connor was narrowing his eyes at Wesley now and he still felt naked under the boy's penetrating gaze, no matter how often his father had done the same.

"You're angry with her for never telling you."

Wes tried to keep the anger from showing on his face but he obviously failed because Connor frowned, himself, and raised his right eyebrow the way Wes had watched Agent Gibbs do several times already. Everything was getting so muddled.

"...I am," Wes whispered, staring down at the tabletop and seeing Connor's own indentations apparently made two days earlier when they'd first arrived in Washington, D.C. "I suppose she never expected to see me again, but the point's still the same. And, anyway, she's alive now, presumably until our daughter is born. What are we supposed to do? It's not like the night you were born, we can't just sneak around this country's capital looking for a teaching hospital -- we have to do this the normal way. Presumably, there aren't any demons going to run around trying to kill her."

Wesley chuckled sarcastically, "The most exciting thing I've ever done is die or get shot. And the ones who've all done those things are dead. And I don't know if my daughter counts as a miracle child. She's got two human parents."

"One of whom was dead before three hours ago, and the other the day before yesterday," Connor pointed out helpfully and Wes sighed, conceding the point.

"Well, I wouldn't want to give her one of those embarrassing, made-up names. That'd be a nice look-out for another miracle of what seem to be a bunch. Besides, I'm British. That'd hardly be the thing to do."

"Why don't you ask Lilah?" Connor asked, finally giving up and going to put the last of his dinner down the garbage disposal.

Wes' face hardened again. "I...I'm not ready to see her again yet."

Instead of asking all sorts of annoying, inconvenient questions like 'why', Connor simply nodded and sat back down at the table, resuming writing in a notebook he'd presumably gotten from his bedroom.

"Well, it's not like she's going anywhere at the moment," was all the boy said. And then he said something that completely took Wes by surprise, as the Connor he'd known wouldn't have done so: "And if you don't get the story straight from her, instead of a diluted or _fictional_ version from someone else, you'll probably regret it. I certainly do."

Wes stared at Connor for a moment, for the first time truly grasping the changes that had been wrought in not only the father, but the -- well, the youngest son, as he hadn't known the elder for more than two days and the eldest for more than six or seven terror-filled hours, at most.

The Connor he'd more or less become acquainted with after his abrupt return from Quor'Toth and Wesley's own reconciliation with their family would never have been so open, having been indoctrinated so thoroughly since his earliest childhood never to trust either demons, nor those who would call demons allies. There hadn't been anything more than black and white in Steven Holtz's world and the young man had, even after being back on Earth for months, never really been able to accept that people could be honest with him, nor that demons wouldn't always hurt him.

Then again, Wesley considered, one of Angel's first mistakes in that regard had been right when Connor had returned -- to lie to him, thinking it was for the boy's own good, and putting his son's needs second to his own for revenge, even if he hadn't intended to. Everything had deteriorated even further from there, until Wesley had been hauling an emaciated Angel, mad from starvation, out of a coffin in the middle of the sea.

As he and Willow had discussed, they'd each been to dark places in the name of love and revenge.

But Wesley was listening to a different Connor now, one who had been gifted with a firsthand view of the safer sides of life on Earth and now understood what love truly felt like once more, and that while his father had made terrible mistakes, Angel would cut out his own heart before he would purposely harm his son in any way.

It had been a lesson Wesley himself had had to learn quite painfully, on many levels. He didn't blame Angel for trying to kill him, for Wesley -- with all his own good intentions -- had done exactly that without meaning to.

He'd stolen his best friend, his brother's heart and ripped a hole in his soul.

Before Wesley could stop himself, he shuddered as a sob let loose before he could stop it. He'd never allowed himself to truly _feel_ that pain, his mission to correct his mistake being far too important to become distracted. And then he'd been with Lilah and while the pain was still there, he could be distracted from it.

But now everything was crashing down on him again and it seemed the after his death, all the walls he'd built up -- most of which had stayed even after the Orlon Window had been smashed by his own _stupid, stupid_ hand -- had been stripped away. He was sobbing now, his face now pressed into his arms as he cried yet again, grief for years of mistake after blunder after tragedy he alone was responsible for pouring out of him and he couldn't, he just couldn't stop it this time.

He startled again, at first, when he realized Connor was wrapping his arms around Wes' shoulders, a deep sigh reverberating through the thin body as, like his father, Connor placed his chin on top of Wesley's head.

"It's okay, Uncle Wesley. I forgive you. You're a protector, just like Dad. But it's a choice you've made, not anything you can't help but do, and you've messed up, we've all messed up -- you and I worse than most...but we're being given second chances. All we can do is learn from the past. Erasing it isn't the answer. Someone will always find a way to dig it back up, so why not learn from it instead?"

Wesley struggled not to jerk backward, forcing himself not to yell, "You of all people -- I got you sent to Hell! I deprived you of the only parent you'd ever known and condemned you to a life of destitution within the fiery bowels of the _darkest of the dark worlds_, under the thumb of a man who wanted nothing more than to see you suffer for the simple fact that you're the son of the vampires he hated more than any other!"

Wesley squirmed, trying to get out of Connor's embrace, but the boy's superior strength won out and he collapsed out of exhaustion. "And when your...your father was found to have been the executor of the deal that cleaned all of our minds, our memories of the hell we'd been through, that _you'd_ been through, I immediately jumped to the worst conclusion -- that he'd been responsible for the death of -- of..."

Wesley couldn't stop crying, the past two and a half years playing through his head the same as when he broke the Orlon Window -- disjointed, repetitive, random voices somehow forming a cohesive whole of Connor's life as they'd known it. Quor'Toth was but a void to them and not one of them, especially Angel and Wesley, had been willing to ask Connor anything about it, even if just to spare his pain. Their fear had been too great and it had cost the boy more dearly than most of them would ever know.

"We were all so...so selfish about you. Never considering what was happening to you or why, so self-centered -- what a family you've been stuck with."

"Shut up," Connor commanded then, further surprising Wesley as Connor jerked backward and glared at him in a way that said he'd better take those words back.

But he couldn't, so he just looked down at the wet table beneath him, fingering his equally tear-logged shirt.

"A family that loved me from the moment they saw me? Protected me, even as they didn't know what I was? I've seen the pictures -- there's a whole photo album in my room that _Aunt_ Fred -- " Connor ignored Wesley's flinch and plowed forward. "And _Aunt_ Cordy got made because Dad kept taking pictures of me every five seconds. I remember Aunt Cordy saying they had to put locks on the weapons cabinet, Uncle Gunn walking up with my stroller, Dad changing my diapers -- _you_ changing my diapers, both of you speaking to me in funny sounding words I understand now. You spoke to me in Welsh and Dad spoke to me in Irish. You both spoke to me in English when everyone else was around, but when it was just us -- you two being the only ones from Europe, you spoke to me in those languages. Sometimes you even spoke to me in Scottish, which sounded a lot like Irish to me."

Wesley was staring wide-eyed at Connor now, wondering _how_ he could possibly remember all of that. Connor smirked and enlightened him, "When you broke that Orlon Window, things started trickling back. It's taken a while, but eventually it all kind of fell on me like -- "

"A truck carrying millions of years of memories, each one for _your_ perusal and it's kind of creepy and you're scared, but..."

Wes trailed off and Connor stared at him momentarily, studying him now. "Your father and I had a similar conversation about an hour or so ago. He's more than one persona, as well, you probably recall."

Connor's face pinched slightly in thought and he nodded. "My mother comes to visit me -- well, I shouldn't say 'comes', she's only been back on this plane twice. It was before we moved here and I was a wreck because of everything I was remembering and I didn't know how to handle it. She said that the things I'd done weren't my fault, that I was just the weapon in the hand of the one with the intent. I...I don't know if I wanted to believe her at the time or if I was just hoping she was wrong so that I'd have something to feel horrible about. I'm so used to feeling horrible, it's what I know."

Wes started to cut him off but Connor surged forward, his hands splayed on the table, determined not to allow him to. "But she told me that none of my mistakes, though they may be numbered, compare with her by far biggest mistake. She said she didn't understand when Dad first tried to explain it to her, but she did after she began sharing my soul -- which she still does, by the way -- she said...she said her biggest mistake was handing a monster the keys to my father's body and basically saying, 'Take it for a spin.' He told her she damned him."

Wesley's eyes were practically bugging out of his head now, his mouth hanging open. He honestly didn't know what to say.

It didn't matter, though, because Connor continued yet and still. "But if anyone in our family knows what she means, it's Uncle Gunn. He's responsible for Illyria's existence, for her -- well, partial, it seems, if what Dad says is correct, which I'm betting he is -- control of Aunt Fred's body. Whether he knew it or not, he handed over his own set of keys and, like my mother, gets to live with the consequences for however long Illyria remains out of the Deeper Well.

"My mother wishes she were back in Hell. She thinks that's where she belongs. I grew up in Hell, yeah, but she actually did things to _get_ there. And if she can be saved, then of course I can. We all can. She's like you, Dad, and Uncle Gunn, you're all so alike. Thinking you're to blame and actually _being_ to blame. Those are so different.

"Papa, Maman, Kaitlin -- they haven't ended lives. Yet." Connor sighed, standing back and running his hand through his hair. "_Seanathair_ has, but not by choice. He was consigned to the British Navy, like Dad was the our Navy. But even in his tendency to bluster, Dad says things that make a lot of sense. He didn't actually say it to me, though, so much as I just figured it out. I told him before I left Wolfram and Hart to go back to Napa: 'You do what you can to protect your family. I learned that from my father...'"

Wes sank back into his chair, in awe of the young man before him, but was surprised when Connor continued talking.

"My fathers. And my mothers, aunts and my uncles, my brothers and my sisters-in-law, and my nieces and my nephews and my grandparents and step-grandparents and I don't know if you've ever heard, but I'm an excellent student."

Another compulsive bark of laughter erupted from Wesley now before he could stop it and Connor grinned widely back at him before sobering. "If you keep putting off talking to Lilah, you might never get the answers you want and deserve. The chance might be taken away from you."

Determination gripped Wesley, then, and he stood up and walked out.

Connor watched him go before sighing and sitting back down, staring at the ceiling.

"Well, Mom? How'd we do?"

...TBC...


	22. Tactile

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Mutant Enemy, Bellasarius, and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape. Transcription from the site, BuffyWorld. The Decemberists. "A Bower Scene.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2009.

**Summary:** Lilah smiled bitterly before reaching into her suit jacket pocket and removing a one dollar bill, until recently ironed flat by heat and still smelling of sulfur. "We made this bet, remember? One of us was going to be first..."

Wes stared in astonishment at the dollar, his mouth tipping open as he took it from her and held it gingerly in his hand as if it were the little girl they'd created, transfigured.

**Spoilers:** AtS - late S3, S4.

**Inspiration:** Wes and Lilah's entire relationship. GUH. In fact, if Wes/Lilah isn't your thing, evacuate the premises, because there's nothing else as far as this chapter is concerned. *devilish grin*

**Rating: M** for mild to moderate sexual content, though nothing explicit that I can tell.

**Notes:** I'd like to thank **adoxerella** and The Decemberists for helping me avert writer's block for the majority of this behemoth. No, it's more like I've been possessed at the oddest hours...

Also, for the interests of this story, Gibbs' house is very big with lots of rooms, but still rather homey all the same. Think the Burrow or the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, circa Deathly Hallows or, instead, think Rockbell Automail from _Fullmetal Alchemist_, which is a very large, very warm and inviting house that also doubles as a business, as implied by the name of the place.

For all who live under rocks or in dank, manky caves, The Burrow, the very large and enjoyable, if dilapidated home of the Weasley family and The Most Ancient House of Black, the equally large and dilapidated if rather despised ancestral home of Sirius and Regulus Black and the rest of their now died-out family, with each serving as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix at different points in Harry Potter canon.

Gibbs most likely has a perfectly normal house in NCIS canon, but this is not it -- as I'm sure you've figured out by now. Anyway.

Part XXI: Tactile

_You've suffered enough. I want you to find some peace.  
Gallant to the end...but I knew what I signed up for.  
It's done.  
Look in the drawer. Flames wouldn't be eternal if they actually consumed anything. But it means something that you tried. - Wesley, Lilah - Home, 4.22;_

Wes had been angry, he still was, really -- furious, in fact -- but one look at Lilah lying there on his bed, pale, exhausted...and all he could do was sigh. Honestly, he was surprised he didn't laugh even a bit.

"On the scale of Horrid Things to Happen to Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, I..." Wes found himself chuckling at the surprised expression on Lilah's face. "I honestly have to say this does not rank. Which, if it did, would be very, very bad -- obviously. Also, it seems you didn't know this was my room. Funny, that."

Lilah, who had been staring at him in apprehension, lay back against his pillow, now concentrating on not smiling against her will and probably wanting to protest when he came to sit at the end of his bed and took up her feet in his hands, kneading them slowly, but the way her eyes closed again (bloody hell, was that a _purr_ he heard just now?) probably put that idea to rest.

As it was, Wes remained ready to remind her that this was his bed, now, to do with as he pleased. If she cared to let that apply to her, as well, all the better, since she happened to be on it.

She would be getting her own, if she wanted, or she could stay with him, as who the bloody hell knew how many rooms this very surprising house had? Wes had sometimes wondered what Angel had done with his shares of proceeds from cases and such and he supposed now he knew.

He spent nearly every penny on his sons, Wes was almost certain. Replacing clothes and weapons were necessities. Toiletries, whatever else, but the rest of it had most likely come here, especially after they'd taken over Wolfram and Hart and everything Angel could need or want had been handed to him on a platter.

He was letting his mind wander. Or perhaps not quite. The subject had still been progeny and it certainly seemed as though Wes would have his own hands full with...a daughter...sooner, obviously, rather than later.

One he'd known nothing about.

"I'm curious," Wes said lightly, though not missing the way Lilah tensed, of course. "Were you planning to simply spend the rest of however many millenia slaving away for Wolfram and Hart as part of that bloody _clause_ you signed and _our daughter_ would just -- what? Sit inside you like old food in the back of the refrigerator, locked away and someone could remove and get rid of it, but really -- who wants to touch something so malfeasant -- ?"

Lilah tried her hardest to yank her feet out of Wesley's hands, but she was beyond tired and didn't want to play this game yet again today.

"NO, you shithead. As I told Angel earlier today -- well, actually, no, I didn't. It's none of his goddamned business, Old One or no. Fuck him. I don't care what kind of _brotherly love_ you two have for each other, I don't owe him anything and never did."

Wes frowned, trailing his thumb over the joint of her big toe in a way that made her shudder. "He's never asked anything of you. Even when he told you he'd kill you if you ever came near Connor, that wasn't a request. You know that perfectly well. You didn't even think anything of it -- it just came with the job."

"Our daughter didn't come with the job, this -- whatever we have didn't come with the job."

Wesley's eyes narrowed and his tone hardened, but the pressure of his hold never increased. "Then you should have told me."

Lilah sighed, letting her head drop backward so she could stare at the ceiling. "Why Wes? We were never supposed to see one another ever again. What would have been the point?"

Her eyes slid shut automatically but then Wes' grip increased without warning and he was visibly trying his hardest not to yell. As it was, Lilah could tell she couldn't have wounded him any more deeply than if she'd stabbed him herself which, given the types of injuries Wes tended to incur, was saying something.

"My daughter's the goddamned bloody point, Lilah!" Wesley snapped, nonetheless, somehow maintaining the control over himself to carefully set her feet aside as he went to stand again.

He was leaving, she could tell. Even more than that, Lilah could tell she didn't want him to leave.

"Wes, I didn't -- "

He whirled back around to face her, his face vivid with anger and, even more, incredible hurt. Lilah flinched but forced herself to continue.

"I was dead, Wes -- "

Wes snarled, then, cutting her off. "So was I, ruddy get in line -- furthermore get to the fucking point!"

Lilah was flustered. He'd never seen her flustered before. This would be fascinating and, most likely, even endearing if he wasn't so hacked off.

"How was I supposed to know Angel was an Old One? I didn't find that out until my perpetuity clause was enacted and, even then, I couldn't just go around saying anything about it -- I couldn't see you at all!"

Wes's feet dragged on the floor as he slowly turned around. When he did, he was rather stunned to see Lilah was crying. He might have written it down to prenatal hormones, but somehow she'd gotten one of the books Wolfram and Hart had left to him and was holding it upright.

"Wolfram and Hart Introductory Contract," Lilah whispered, tears splashing onto her hand as she blinked and then opened the book. There, before him, the book was filling with line upon line of legalese, but Lilah ignored all that, skipping right to the bottom.

Wes moved closer again to bend over her shoulder and could feel Lilah's shudder as another stifled sob rolled over her. Wes resisted the urge to place his hand on her shoulders, simply allowing her to lean back toward him. There, in dried blood used as ink, was Lilah's name in full.

"I knew what I was getting into with the Firm," Lilah whispered, smoothing her right hand over the replica, before shifting and looking up at him, her face wet and increasingly blotchy. "_You_ were the surprise, Wes. _You_ were the one I didn't expect...I don't know what I did or didn't expect, but it certainly wasn't..."

Lilah smiled bitterly before reaching into her suit jacket pocket and removing a one dollar bill, until recently ironed flat by heat and still smelling of sulfur. "We made this bet, remember? One of us was going to be first..."

Wes stared in astonishment at the dollar, his mouth tipping open as he took it from her and held it gingerly in his hand as if it were the little girl they'd created, transfigured.

Lilah sighed and then a laugh bubbled upward, surprising them both. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, I swear to -- "

But then she was surprised as Wes' lips captured Lilah's then and she moaned, accepting the kiss, reveling in the feel of his body coming to lay atop hers again after so -- _too_ long. Wes' mouth danced away and began to trail down her neck and Lilah almost laughed again but then she shoved him away.

"Some things you should know," Lilah said, her voice now hard, her hands pressing against her eyes as if trying to push the tears back into them.

"I'm only here until -- "

"Until she's born, I know," Wes' finished and Lilah nodded, more tears leaking out despite her best efforts.

"Second of all, the truth of the matter, Wes, was that had I been given the chance to further my career, I'd've not only had your godson cut up into little tiny pieces, but -- if she'd existed at the time -- your sparkly goddaughter, too. Who's to say -- "

"Oh, do shut up," Wes interrupted, frowning irritably. "I get it, you're such a big bad, nothing I deserve, blah blah ruddy blah. You realize I watched a vampiress stake herself for the good of the son _she_ wasn't supposed to have? Your ridiculous speech means nothing. So you've done horrible things, there's no shortage of that in this house. Are you going to kill our daughter?"

"No!" Lilah snapped before she even knew what she was saying.

"Then, again, shut up," Wes murmured, leaning in for another kiss, but Lilah pushed him away again, trying to ignore the erection she could now see tenting his jeans.

"You're fucking insane," Lilah burst out, her eyes crossing of their own accord when Wes' (warm, battleworn -- dear God -- loving) fingers came up to cover her mouth. Pushing them away, she glared at him. "You're -- I can't say, but you and I? We're not -- it's not..."

Wes sighed and situated himself against her legs again, trailing his callused fingers along her left, daring her not to moan.

"You know, for a former Watcher, you're horrible at following instructions."

"Watcher, actually. They want me back, it seems. Giles wasn't very...well, he was certainly less than his usual eloquent self. Probably something to do with me having been dead. Whatever, I've got an offer for freelance work from not only the ICW, but Jethro's own place of employment -- NCIS would apparently love for me to help Dr. Mallard and Abby with any more demonic cases they stumble across, not that the Secretary of the Navy or the Director said any of that -- that'd require their knowledge of otherworldly things and who wants that. Still, I've got skills they're just dying for, it seems. The offer's always mine, apparently, if I want it."

Wes was tempted to take advantage of the yet more surprised look on Lilah's face, but he didn't. "I'm sure I'll be taking NCIS' offer, but the ICW won't be getting me free of charge. If -- and only _if_ -- Liliana is Called -- "

Lilah gasped at this sudden turn of events -- whether it was Wes naming their child after her or the possibility of her being Called as a _Slayer_, she didn't know or care -- but Wes went on as if nothing was amiss.

"_I_ or a Watcher of _my_ choosing will be her Watcher. Angel assures me that they don't remove Slayers from their homes anymore, nor do they allow Watchers to run roughshod all over the law and God only knows what else in what _they_ see as the Greater Good.

"Furthermore, I have been assured that my goddaughter is not a Slayer, though it seems my irrelevant suspicions were proven correct. Connor is the first male Slayer in existence. I am his Watcher. His parents, all three -- or is it four? -- and I agreed as much, as do both Buffy and Faith."

Wes flatly ignored Lilah's eyes widening and continued trailing a finger up and down her leg.

"I can't believe you'd tell me all that and the - then _continue_ to try to seduce me when I've told you, you and I aren't anything anymore."

"Bollocks," Wes rolled his eyes leaning forward so that his hands slid up toward her unzipped skirt, finally landing on the slight swell of Lilah's belly, at which she hiccuped and began to cry again. Wes slowed his hand, smoothing away the lines of her tears with the pads of his thumb.

"I'm not _trying_ anything. This from the woman who insisted we never were -- not that I didn't swear the same utter shite. Well, since you insist, then -- "

Wes leaned backward and muttered something, gathering a ball of white energy in his hand before it expanded and encompassed the entire room. Lilah watched it expand and dissipate before looking back at him.

"Privacy spell," he answered her questioning look. "If we're 'not anything anymore', then I certainly insist that the last year be made up for at least once."

Wesley's hands came to alight on Lilah's waist again and he kissed her, tasting her tears and listening to the reluctant laughter that accompanied them.

"I'm rather curious, though -- who you insist I'll end up with, if not you -- you ridiculous bint," he murmured in her ear as he slid her skirt down all the way and began kissing everything he could reach.

"I don't care," Lilah whispered, her eyes closing as Wes all but tore her hose away and made short work of her panties, as well.

"Bloody liar, I can't wait -- to see how -- jealous you get..." Wes muttered, his tongue flicking the inside of Lilah's thigh and he couldn't help but laugh as she grabbed his hair again, hauling him upward and devouring his mouth for the first time in far, far too long.

"I love it when you get all British on me like this." She was going to miss this when it was gone. Wes grunted into her skin and she couldn't resist laughing, herself.

Of course -- and she'd never tell Wes this except on pain of re-death, which (let's face it) was coming for her eventually -- she welcomed the distraction the father of her child gave just now because it meant she didn't have to think about their daughter, herself, and all the pain that that brought.

It meant she could pretend for a little while that she wasn't a mother, not truly, and wouldn't ever get a chance to be one.

_...And when young Margaret's waistline grew wider, the fruit of her amorous entwine inside her...And so our heroine withdraws to the Taiga..._

...TBC...


	23. Blood

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Mutant Enemy, Bellasarius, and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape. The Decemberists. "The Mariner's Revenge Song.". Hush, Rough Trade, 2005. A Perfect Circle. "The Noose.". Virgin, 2003.

*gasp* Something else? Oh, surely not! Mind you, I'm taking The Decemberists' lyrics _completely_ out of context simply because they serve my purpose. Hm.

**Summary:** Angel waited until Ducky had left before he looked at Ari and Ziva. "I'm sorry. He -- Leroy feels very strongly about families being split apart. I'm certain you heard why."

**Spoilers:** AtS, S5 5.13 - Why We Fight. *still tearful and sniffly from that one even now...*

**Inspiration:** NCIS, S1 1.16 - Bête Noire, though obviously things are going to go completely differently and Ziva is involved. Lalala!

**Rating: M** for angst and emotional pain.

**Notes:** I'd like to thank **adoxerella** and The Decemberists for helping me avert writer's block for the majority of this behemoth.

No, it's more like I've been possessed at the oddest hours...

**Timeline:** This one blends into the end of the previous two chapters, which -- of course -- overlap, time-wise.

Part XXII: Blood

_We are two mariners, our ships' sole survivors in this belly of a whale..._

Ziva sat on the cement beneath them with her arms around her knees and her head leaning on Ari's shoulder. She couldn't feel them anymore, but she was fairly certain she was still crying. Half-formed questions kept racing around her head but none of it mattered, all that it amounted to was that Papa was dead and that, even more, he had lied to herself and Ari -- _used_ them to slaughter an innocent family because he'd known the pain it would cause their _Saba_.

Papa had often talked about Saba, though it was years before he'd ever mentioned Angel's name. He talked vaguely, almost wistfully of the German U-Boat and once or twice had mentioned how he'd never actually told Saba his biggest reasons for wanting to take a shot at the Germans and their blood-soaked boats.

Then again, Papa never revealed much of anything, even when he talked for hours. Ziva still didn't know how he managed to do so but it didn't matter now anyway. Nothing did.

Her breath hitched, followed by a hiccup, and, instantly, Ari's hand was behind her once more, rubbing her back as he spoke a mix of Hebrew and Arabic in low, soothing tones. Ziva was quite satisfied with having convinced him to teach it to her, if nothing else at the moment.

Just the sound of his voice was like an anchor, a hold to keep her from drifting away and forgetting everything that mattered.

Like Papa obviously had.

It hurt her deeply, she had to admit to herself, that not only couldn't she have saved Papa, but that he hadn't wanted to be. He'd been lost since long before she and Ari had been born. That he loved them, adored them and Tali, had never taken precedence over his hatred of Saba, no matter how long the years or filled his days and nights were.

It wasn't until the final time they'd seen him, when he'd told the both of them never to expect to see him again, that he'd even told him the name he'd been born with. Samuel Lawson. Samuel Aaron Lawson, it sounded so foreign to her ears and she knew Ari had flinched, as well.

Papa had smiled that same old charming smile at their alienation and took out a piece of paper, even going so far as to write it out in signature. He'd taken time to stare at it, himself, his mouth quivering with some unknown grief before giving it to Ziva first and instructing her to hand it to her brother when she finished.

When Ari had finally broken so far as to ball up the paper and throw it to the ground, Papa had only laughed. "Hey, that's my -- that's me you're throwing around there. That's what your _Saba_ knows me as. It's the only name he ever heard me by...Lawson..."

Ari had snapped then, gesticulating angrily toward the paper, "I do not know that man, this _Lawson_ -- that is a lie to me! You admit to making yourself a lie, then, _Abba_!"

"Ari." Papa's voice was quiet but his message was clear. Ari had been dangerously close to stepping over a line and, son or not, Papa would have made him pay for his transgression.

Ziva almost found that humorous now -- Papa threatening to harm Ari when all he'd intended was to use them as artillery in a war he'd orchestrated since before they existed. So different, yet so familiar.

_"You are never to call me 'Papa' or _'Abba'_ or anything of the sort ever again. I am Samuel Lawson, to my father, to you."_ Pa -- _Samuel's_ voice was cold, distant. He'd always made an effort, at their mothers' behest -- particularly Ari's, whom they'd all known was his mate -- but now that effort was gone.

At the time, it had seemed, had felt like a condemnation, as though they were being cast away for some unknown transgression.

Now -- Ziva clenched her eyes shut, finally feeling the burning of her tears again as she burrowed more deeply into her _only family's_ side -- now, she didn't know what to think.

Was she just a weapon? A mongrel weapon that had been honed all these years to -- _Samuel's_ liking? Was Ari just a mutt?

Ari. He was half-Slayer, half-vampire, just as she was -- they'd always been taught to control themselves and their Others. Was the point now to forgo all that and simply begin wholesale slaughter? Ziva couldn't -- _Ari couldn't_ -- Ari, who'd hated learning to shoot, though he'd done it magnificently, just like everything else...

Ari stiffened suddenly, carefully removing himself from their embrace and swiftly rising. "They are emerging. Stay here, little sister."

Ziva felt her breath hitch, reaching to grab Ari's arm before she knew it. "I could not let you do this alone. What if -- "

"What if Agent Gibbs were to shoot you? I could not bear it if anything should happen to you. I would die if -- "

Ziva opened her mouth to return the words back to Ari, but found they would not come. Instead she clenched his arm more tightly until he honestly paused.

"I promise, little sister. I will not invite any more unintended violence. That is my oath to you."

With that Ari kissed her forehead and walked ahead of her, removing his pistol while in his usual swift stride, even in secrecy. After a moment, Ziva followed, mirroring his movements. She was his backup, his handler. Always.

***

Angel let out a long-held sigh as they exited the restaurant, rolling his eyes as he loosened his tie. He resisted the urge to audibly complain yet and simply settled for growling as he glared back at the place.

"Bleargh," was Jethro's only concession to doing so, himself, and Angel readily grunted in agreement.

"It wasn't that bad," Lawrence objected, himself and Colleen being the only ones to get doggie bags.

"You're out of the family," Gibbs sat flatly and Angel reached up behind Lawrence, smacking Gibbs smartly upside the head. "Fine. Sorry."

Whether he was apologizing to Lawrence or to Angel was unclear.

Connor walked beside Liam, though on the inside of the street, which he rather resented. He wasn't a woman or a child, after all, and certainly not completely helpless. Whenever he had tried to move outward, however, Liam instantly used his superior speed to circumvent his attempts and eventually Connor sighed and gave up.

Connor sent Liam yet another pointed frown. "Liam, if ye asked Jethro not ter hit Anthony, then why would ye do the same ter him?"

Gibbs gave Angel a very pointed look, which Angel ignored completely.

"I refuse to dignify that with a response," Angel then said flatly, suddenly holding out his arm and stopping his father's and the Reillys' progress, while Gibbs halted Ducky's, Gibbs pulling out his Sig Sauer in the same smooth, practiced action.

Connor risked a glance at Liam only to pale when he found his son's eyes glowing brightly gold and silver, as they had off and on over the previous day.

He almost groaned, knowing that something he was not going to enjoy was about to happen. He didn't bother looking at Leroy. He already knew his grandson's blue eyes were already brightened to that oddly fiery shade Connor had quickly learned to associate with Leroy being angry, watchful, or both.

As if on cue, Angel and Gibbs simultaneously stalked ahead on the street, leaving everyone fully human standing nervously in the bright, protective light of the restaurant's awning.

It happened almost too fast for Connor to catch what happened, but there was talking, then there were three small 'pew' noises and almost instantly, Liam was slamming not just a strange dark-haired young man, whom Connor could tell was bleeding even from this distance, but Leroy, himself, back against a wall while fending off a slender dark-haired woman holding another gun pointed at Liam's head, and only then...arguing.

Liam said something in a language Connor didn't recognize and the woman snapped something else back in the same tongue, but didn't lower her gun. Though she didn't shoot Liam, either. Leroy was struggling to get out of Liam's grasp, now growling audibly enough to be heard from where the rest of them were standing, and Liam changed his hold, gripping Leroy's throat and leaning very closely to his face, a low growl emanating toward them before Liam slammed Leroy against the building again, leading his gun to go off and whatever was in it to ricochet off the ground and into Liam's waist, forcing him to let go with another, this time far louder growl, and grasp his thigh.

It was only then that Connor realized that he and all his human counterparts were holding hands in nervousness and fear, though Dr. Mallard was attempting to reassure everyone else. Connor, himself, was speechless.

Memories of Liam's were going through his head -- of a metal area with a low ceiling and even lower doorways, young men in varying shades of clothing and Liam dressed all in black coming out of a tunnel of some sort, dripping wet with heavy chains around his feet. Controlling other vampires aboard the -- U-Boat, staking some. One of them was William -- _Spike_, who irritated Liam a great deal, but Connor could always feel a deep affection between the two even as Spike needled Liam constantly.

Ensign Lawson. Samuel Lawson, Liam came to love a great deal. Liam gained a son on that ship, Connor could see, and these two were that son's children. As well trained as their father and just as conflicted as their father and grandfather. Just as loving. They descended from warriors on all sides and it showed quite plainly in their bearing. Their mothers were Potential Slayers, one of whom Sam had loved as much as he _could_ love life itself.

_Because who in their right mind could_ love _death...?_ Was that Thomas? No, it was Aurelius. Yes, the Old One as opposed to the warped demon that also lay in wait -- yes, it was. Liam said that Angelus was no longer insane. Did that mean that he was instead? The very thought made Connor sick to his stomach.

Connor shook his head as he'd earlier found would cause Liam's memories and new (old?) abilities to dissipate before they consumed him, as they tended to do to Liam at times. Talking and physical contact, such as touching Liam's face or arm was required to bring him out of them when this happened.

He couldn't simply shake them off as Connor could. These were his memories, it was all his life and he couldn't simply toss any of it aside.

Everything was so simple for others, Connor had come to realize. Everything, already so complicated for Liam, had become that much more.

_"I wonder if this is how Drusilla feels," Liam had noted askance earlier that very day, his voice quiet and faraway, and Connor had felt like crying once more._

He longed to tell Liam that what had happened hadn't been his fault, but it was so much harder to do so with concrete evidence sitting right in his mind. And so he kept quiet rather than say something else he'd regret.

But he hugged Liam tightly all the same, gratified almost beyond reason when Liam didn't pull away. Instead, his face and voice had hardened before becoming blank. That stature, Connor had come to recognize, was Thomas -- the being his son had been before birth. "I've held her suffering before, I'll do it now. I owe her that much...and more..."

Connor had longed to disagree, but knew none of the parts that made up his son's whole would ever be dissuaded from anything. Twenty-six years with Liam had shown him as much and more. Liam had breathed deeply, then, blinking and looking around himself to get his bearings.

"Father, I -- " he'd begun, but Connor had cut him off with a hand on his shoulder, his own voice breaking.

...And not to pull your halo down around your neck and tug you off your cloud...__

"You are yer name an' more. Ye don' have ter explain. Just do yer job an' keep the others safe. It's what ye do, Li."

Liam's eyes had widened slightly in disbelief and his breath had quickened, several tears falling before Connor quietly brushed them away.

Connor had smiled at Liam, then. He would be patient this time. One day Liam would smile back and he could wait until then.

Connor tuned completely back into the happenings before him, forcing his mind to follow his eyes even if Liam couldn't at times, and took in what was before him once more.

Leroy was wide-eyed now, his breaths coming quickly and erratically as he tightened his grip on the gun but now stood at what Connor now knew was 'attention'.

"Go sit in the car," Liam snarled and Leroy followed his command without question. "You two are coming with us, we need to get patched up and all this straightened out."

"I will not -- " the woman, who had lowered her gun, brought it up again and trained it upon Liam, who turned toward her and Connor could see abject terror in her face even if she would not back down. Her face had changed, as had the man's, turning to something approximating Leroy's what everyone called a vampire's 'game face', with fangs and small divots in their foreheads.

From the posture the woman took, it seemed a great struggle to keep from backing away from Liam, but she did refrain from doing so. Her brother, having lost his weapon, as well, was wide-eyed, both their own eyes golden-hued as Liam's had been in Connor's memory.

Liam growled again and the woman finally acquiesced, lowering her gun.

"Find your brother's," Liam ordered, lowering the other man from his grip against the wall and supporting him even as Liam removed and undid his tie before he wrapped it around the man's arm, all the while ignoring his own leg.

The young woman darted out of sight for a moment before returning only to have Liam carefully take all three guns and hide them in various places on his person. The young woman and man did not object this time.

Then Liam called out, "Ducky, we're going to need your help soon!" When the young woman and man each tried to dart away, Liam again glared them into submission.

Dr. Mallard startled before responding, "Ah, er, yes -- yes, that'll be quite alright. I can treat them. You, as well, of course."

Liam began limping back with the young man, each leaning into one another as a matter of course, what with the young woman having found her brother's gun as Liam had instructed, and when they reached the light of the restaurant, Connor found himself sounding in shock as their bloodied bodies came back into view. All were back in human countenance, but it seemed a struggle.

Liam spoke up, his voice rough with effort, "Ducky, Leroy needs your assistance in the car at the moment. He's probably bleeding everywhere.

I've put a tourniquet around Ari's arm. Right, and I'll need a bullet removed, too, of course. We should probably go to NCIS Headquarters since you have everything you need there."

Dr. Mallard nodded quickly before dashing off toward the automobile they'd taken to the restaurant, where Leroy was apparently injured, himself.

Liam sighed, his speech getting more stilted as he went on, "It's a -- good thing you -- three all had -- silencers -- I guess," he gasped haltingly. "Ziva, you cannot -- have your gun back -- so stop trying to sneak -- it off me or you'll lose -- the use of that -- arm. We've had -- enough people -- shot for tonight."

"How do you know our names?" the young woman, Ziva, demanded in a thick accent Connor couldn't place.

"I guess Sam didn't tell you -- " both Ziva and -- Ari, it seemed -- recoiled at that name and Liam sighed. "Sorry -- Eli didn't tell you. I'm -- "

"Saba," _Ari_ snapped, glancing at Liam in a mixture of anger and a strange reverence. Liam brightened slightly, even though he continued panting and bleeding.

"Sam -- Eli told you I was your grandfather?"

"Well, you are, are you not?" Ari snapped, pain coming back to his face that had nothing to do with being wounded, Connor could see.

Liam sighed, seemingly distracted from the still-bleeding wound in his thigh. "I suppose I am." But his voice and face, instead of holding joy as one would expect, were very sad.

_...But I'm more than just a little curious how you're planning to go about making your amends to the dead..._

***

Connor didn't know what to think of the shiny metal room with all the drawers he was told succinctly by Liam were there to contain dead people until they could be buried. He found his eyes wandering toward them but, each time, Lawrence would distract him somehow. He didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed, but was distracted all the same.

The man everyone called 'Ducky' worked quickly and efficiently, removing the shaped bits of metal that didn't resemble musket balls, but were instead cylindrical and pointed at one end -- Liam's memories told him that this was so they cut more quickly through air, flesh, and bone and Connor couldn't help but shiver at the vision of Liam being run through with one while his namesake grandson looked backward from an open window before Liam shoved them both through it. He'd limped considerably, then, as well. That _bullet_, as it had turned out, had lodged very close to his spine.

Now, though, Liam was lying flat on his back, shirt and trouserless on one of the large metal tables, wincing as Dr. Mallard dug around in his thigh with small metal clamps of some sort and removed shards of bullet. On another table his apparent great-grandson, _Ari_, sat shirtless with his arm bandaged, though there was some blood showing through the cloth.

Ari's sister sit beside him, her head on his shoulder in what was apparently a common pose between the two as they'd done so without thought after Ari had gotten back up.

Without warning, though, Liam tensed before sighing and all three of them looked upward. Before long, Connor understood their tension as Leroy came stomping down the staircase Liam had led him down earlier while the others took the _elevator_.

"You're going to pop your stitches, Leroy," Liam said, his voice once more that dangerous tone he'd taken when Connor had first arrived. This time, however, Leroy did not immediately obey.

"They're murderers," he snarled, pointing at Ari and Ziva, who had frozen, once again stiff upright at the sight of Leroy, much less his accusation. Connor wondered if Leroy saw the tears on Ziva's face even as he spoke or how Ari's fists seemed to be bleeding, he was clenching them so tightly.

_He does, he doesn't care,_ Liam's voice said very clearly in his head and Connor almost startled. Almost.

Leroy was still talking. "They -- "

"Were used and I believe I taught you not to point," Liam continued calmly, his voice dark and heavy with warning, but Leroy still would not heed him, it seemed.

Leroy snarled and Liam leapt up out of Dr. Mallard's care, the doctor's eyes widening as he, himself, did so backward.

"Something you want to say, son?"

"Those two dirtbags -- "

"Your _niece and nephew_," Liam spat out, ignoring the blood sliding, dripping onto the floor from his leg. It was then that Connor noticed drains in lines along the floors underneath the tables in in other places.

"They murdered Sergeant Fuentes' wife and family and left William Fuentes an _orphan and the last of his line_!" Leroy, himself spat back, turning to glare at Ari and Ziva before pulling his gun back out.

Ari and Ziva each jumped back to their feet, but it was for naught as Liam immediately moved to block Leroy's access to them.

"So you're an honor killer now, are you? They're a stain that needs removing, are they? Your family? Terrorists, are they?"

Connor watched as both Lawrence and Colleen's eyes widened this time, along with Dr. Mallard's, even as Ari and Ziva both looked quite stricken and Leroy seemed not to know how to feel.

Connor was apparently the only one in the room who didn't know what any of that meant. Creeping as quietly as he could over to Dr. Mallard, who was gripping the edge of the table Liam had lain upon, his face very pale.

"What is this? Honor killing? Terrorists?" Connor whispered, trying to keep his voice as low as possible despite the fact that everyone not-quite human and less heard, regardless, and Dr. Mallard winced and sighed.

"We haven't the time or space to discuss that and I would loathe to do so with you, at any rate."

Connor felt a leaden weight fall into his stomach and he forced himself to turn back to watch what was happening. As it was, Colleen and Lawrence had joined himself and Dr. Mallard behind the metal table, the pair of them tightly holding hands once more.

"Those two scumbags aren't my family!" Leroy snapped, flinging a hand in Ari and Ziva's direction and Liam snarled, his eyes taking on their two-toned tones once more as he stuck two fingers into his wound and dug around, growling loudly the entire time.

Beside Connor, Dr. Mallard groaned and complained in whispers, but Liam eventually moaned terribly and yanked out what looked like a small lump of clotted blood.

Without speaking, Liam stomped over to Ari and ripped his bandage off, this time prompting an audible response from Dr. Mallard, though he still did not intervene.

Liam smeared the blood on the bandage and replaced it upon Ari's arm, causing the young man to begin gasping, his demonic nature forced to the surface in a violent ripple.

Connor looked back at Leroy to find him wide-eyed with both anger and shock, his hands fisted at his side before finally he appeared to give in and pull his gun back out.

"An eye for an eye, Pop," he growled, but now Connor could see tears on his face. "A tooth for a tooth. Get out of my way."

Liam went to stand before Ari, but Ziva jumped up and ran faster than Connor could see and before either Liam or Leroy could do anything, Leroy was flat on his back on the floor, Ziva's foot upon his neck.

Leroy kicked Ziva's legs somehow in a way that reversed their positions, with Ziva down on the floor and Leroy in a crouch over her with his gun to her forehead. Ari had by now jumped up, but Liam gave him a shove back downward before streaking back over to Leroy, kicking his gun away followed by another solidly in the head.

_...With your halo slipping down..._

***

When Gibbs awoke, his breath exploded out of his chest and he sat up, sweat slipping down where dried blood caked his brow. He noticed he wasn't in the morgue anymore, but upstairs in his section of the bullpen.

Angel was sitting on his desk, having cleared a spot and respectfully taken off his shoes before tucking his knees up to his chest.

"Ducky will tend to you later. How long have you gone without sleep?" was all he said and asked, his voice thick with regret.

Gibbs immediately started shaking, clamping his mouth shut and clenching his eyelids so as to attempt to ward off the tears that were burning behind them. He heard a sigh and then nothing until his eyes flew open as Angel's hands gently grasped his shoulders, his father now standing before him.

"Jethro."

Gibbs shuddered, wanting both to flinch away and to cling to Angel's chest and not knowing which to choose. He suddenly realized Angel was dressed again, though there was a wet spot he could smell where blood had been rinsed out of his trousers.

"I...they started a l-little after your call, Pop," Gibbs whispered. "I -- I...God, Papa, I keep seeing them..."

Angel managed not to startle. Leroy hadn't called him _that_ since the last time he'd been hugged, as a child.

Gibbs felt heat on his cold face as the tears he'd tried to hold back surged forth and he began to sob against his will. "I...every time I...I can't..."

Angel's arms were around him now, and though Gibbs had always felt warmth within them, now he felt cold inside. Angel sighed, running his hands over Leroy's hair and down his neck and back, rubbing in circular motions. He didn't say anything, simply letting Leroy cry. He could tell he hadn't since the funeral so long ago, having locked his pain away where he'd assumed it couldn't get to him.

Little had his son known, there were others who'd gladly slip under his defenses and pull it back out for him.

"What happens in these dreams?"

"They're not dreams!" Gibbs snapped before he could think and he braced himself, expecting to be smacked, but Angel merely tightened his hold instead.

"What happens in these nightmares?" Gibbs tried to speak but before he could get a word out, he dissolved again and forced himself at several points to try to muffle sobs and near screams, but Angel forced him only to hug him harder. Finally, Gibbs was able to take a proper breath and leaned forward onto Angel's now-damp shoulder.

_...With heaven's help, you've cast your demons out..._

"I see the...the car...I see them get in. They don't get back out. Sh-shannon turns the ignition and...and...th-they're gone...Papa, I see it over and over and...I want -- I want them to go _away_! Why do I want them to _go away_?"

Gibbs couldn't speak anymore, he was crying so hard again. He felt Angel kiss him on the top of the head before his face was tipped upward and Angel examined his eyes, still brushing away the streams of tears that fell.

"Because they're not real, son. Dreams are never as good as the real thing. They're just a figment of wishes and hope -- or your worst fears and memories come for you. I'm taking you home."

"Pop, I -- " Gibbs tried to protest, but Angel's face hardened slightly and any objection died on his lips.

"I'm taking you home," Angel repeated. "I changed your sheets and burned the bloody ones. I'll replace those soon. You're going to bed and you'll stay there for as long as you need to. No cases, no people shooting at you or running away as a result of you doing the same, no arguing, no bickering -- Abby can wait for her CaffPows, Tony can wait to be smacked upside the head -- Ducky'll wait to regale you with stories. You're going to sleep, _real_ sleep."

"Pop -- " Gibbs weakly tried again, but before he could say anything, Angel pressed his hand against Gibbs' forehead and then there was nothing.

***

Angel didn't speak, simply positioning Leroy's limp body in his chair and lying forward onto his desk, making sure he wouldn't fall before going back downstairs to the morgue.

Ari and Ziva each immediately stiffened as he came down the stairs, but relaxed as they realized Leroy wasn't with him but still upstairs, leaving them perplexed.

"He's asleep. Ducky, you've noticed Jethro's been drinking more coffee than ever?"

Ducky winced, looking pointedly as though he knew but hadn't wanted to admit it. "Yes. Pointedly up from his usual near-gallon or so a day. I didn't want to mention it. I like my bones and muscles where they are."

Angel smiled bitterly. "He's not exactly been thinking clearly, no. Thanks for not saying anything. It means a great deal to both he and I."

Ducky nodded, having changed out of his scrubs in Angel's absence. With no further business in the morgue, itself, he retreated into his office to take notes.

Angel waited until Ducky had left before he looked at Ari and Ziva. "I'm sorry. He -- Leroy feels very strongly about families being split apart. I'm certain you heard why."

Ari and Ziva each nodded, sadness back on their faces as the conversation they'd overheard brought their own situation pointedly back home.

Angel bit his lip. "I'm not certain he'd ever be comfortable enough to have the two of you actually live with us. I -- Billy Fuentes' family asked ours to care for him. They explicitly named my first son as the perpetrator of the crime that killed his family, and since Billy never saw either of you he'd never -- "

"We understand," Ari spoke up, interrupting Angel before coming back to his senses and quieting again, but Angel didn't rebuke him for it as he had expected. Rather, he frowned inwardly, seemingly thinking of something.

"I know of some properties nearby with vacant premises. Lilah -- at least until my niece is born -- my sister and Lindsey are already going to have to live there -- long story -- but if you two aren't adverse to doing so, as well, the entire place is under both mine and Eve's aegis, as well as that of the International Council of Watchers -- "

Angel anticipated both Ari and Ziva's abrupt expressions of astonishment, confusion, and anger before stopping their protestations in their tracks.

"You've missed many things in being raised by S -- Eli. I'm sure you've always wondered how, if Slayers and vampires were always supposed to kill one another, why the two of you even exist or why your parents wouldn't want to kill one another at every moment, much less why Eli's will to live died with your mother, Ari."

Both looked grief-stricken and contemplative at once with Angel's words and he sighed. "Hasmia Haswari was -- Eli's life's mate. Buffy Summers, the Senior-most Slayer at the International Council of Watchers is mine."

Angel ignored their gasps and focused on what he wanted to say. "The Council of the past, well, they loved keeping secrets. It was one way they really loved using to keep power over the Slayers and even the Potentials who could overthrow them easily. They and the Demon Research Initiative -- they were pawns. They never realized that their little games, trying to control the demonic population went against a natural order. And once they found out, they weren't about to let that little detail interfere with their plans."

Ari and Ziva were each staring at him with rapt attention, as were the Reillys and Connor, who -- even with what they'd seen so far -- had trouble digesting this new knowledge.

"They didn't understand two things: not every Slayer, Potential or Called, has a life's mate nor every vampire -- in fact, only my line, the Order of Aurelius, which -- Eli -- was Sired into -- and, as a result, yourselves and others, whom you will most likely meet at some point -- does. They tried countless experiments, forcing Slayers and vampires together in the hopes of trying for some sort of controllable super-breed. In short, they were prideful fools.

"If the previous Council had been able to infiltrate Israel as they'd so wished to do, they would have taken each of you as well as your sister from your parents and tried to bend you to their will, though with little success -- your cousin Spike didn't take too well to being controlled by them -- or the Germans -- either. The same for Leroy, the DRI tried to headhunt him. He circumvented them by going into the Marines, passing as completely human. Though, again, they've tried many times and someday will try again."

Ari flinched backward, a snarl elicited from his lips, while Ziva stood frozen, her face blank, but her eyes alive with rage.

A small smile emerged on Angel's face, though, "God didn't intend for that to happen, however. Lucky us."

Angel began strolling around the morgue then, ignoring the urge to pick up Ducky's tools -- he knew they needed to remain sterile -- and continued to talk.

"Connor fell prey to a different monster, one who succeeded only because she'd used the demon Sah'Jahn -- not that he ever knew it -- to send him to Quor'Toth, where he was raised by a vampire hunter who, rightfully, hated me more than anything in this world or any other.

"Connor's soul was damaged almost beyond repair in that place and Jasmine -- that was the name this goddess took when she re-emerged here -- she was far older than me, can you believe it? -- used that to her advantage at his dire cost.

"In the end, I've had to kill two of my children and I never want to have to suffer that again so I'll need your help. I'm not asking this out of some selfish desire never to kill again. I know I'll have to -- it's a fact of most of our lives, if not a choice we made.

"I'm asking because something is striving to drive the males in my line -- those with 'dirty blood', as they call it -- insane and that includes those of us in this room because, through a spell or not, you all come from my blood or I came from yours -- but the madness always starts with me. Drusilla was my 'pet project', but I was the one who stuck the blows that made her what she is.

"If not for me, she'd've died a normal, sane human death. I insisted what she was to be evil and she was obedient because that was what she knew. I used it to my advantage. I could tell what she was because for my mother, for myself as a human, it was the same.

"My father thought he had committed some great sin, but even death didn't diminish my gift. Kathy was just a normal little girl but how was he to know that -- my father," and here Angel looked over at a visibly unnerved Connor. "Thought that he needed to cleanse she and I of it, this sin -- especially me -- because his children, he assumed, were so unnatural -- and that he'd suffered my mother's death from smallpox because of what she could see -- no one else in the house was touched so that sort of renders his hypothesis null and void, but -- "

Angel stopped pacing, instead staring downward at a drain in the floor which had by then been rinsed clean with water. He idly wondered if it had been blessed beforehand, but testing his theory was out of the question at the moment. He forced himself to concentrate.

"I've had a psychic link with every vampire I've ever Sired, though it was strongest with Drusilla. My link with my Childer and my sons is strong enough to influence their emotions and even their actions. And though it's taken gaining my entire self to realize it, the reverse is also true. You need me and I need you.

"Ziva, Ari -- if you want to be angry with anyone, please be angry with me. Your father didn't possess the capacity to withstand the onslaught of loss because I'd removed his vitality, his wish to live. Hasmia was the only thing keeping him here and once she was gone, he literally could not live anymore. The only thing keeping Spike alive is Drusilla and the same for her, though neither realize it. I'm so sorry."

Angel listened to the ringing silence for a moment before wincing with the left side of his face and forcing himself to look at his gobsmacked father.

"I shouldn't ask this of you, especially given what I already owe you -- "

Connor opened his mouth to object but something in Liam's face made him stop. "I'm taking Leroy home. He was on the verge of collapse. Stay with him while he sleeps, please?"

Connor felt all eyes upon him and, for a moment, was speechless. In the end, all he could do was nod.

_...Your halo's slipping down to choke you now..._

...TBC...

*Hebrew translations: _Saba - Grandfather_

Abba - Father


	24. Crumbling

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Mutant Enemy, Bellasarius, and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape.

Sum 41. "Pieces.". Aquarius, Island, Mercury, 2004. Seether featuring Amy Lee. "Broken.". Wind-Up, 2004. Seether. "Remedy.". Wind-Up, 2004. Tool. "Schism.". Volcano, 2001. Theory of a Deadman. "Santa Monica.". Roadrunner/604 Records, 2006.

**Summary:** Connor found his gaze unerringly drawn to the floor and was shocked to see small drops of blood leading in a trail on the way out of the room, each one disappearing as the next fell.

**Spoilers:** Well, it's completely departed from both canons, so - nothing, really.

**Inspiration:** Long YIM chats. *shrugs* *scoffs* However could I forget rewatching both X-Files movies the day before yesterday?

**Rating: M**

**Notes:** I'd like to thank **adoxerella** for helping me get over my writer's block for this behemoth.

**Timeline:** Immediately following the previous chapter.

Part XXIII: Crumbling

_'By that, I mean we can find no disease, no hint of disease - only symptoms...' - anonymous doctor, The Sixth Extinction, part II, The X-Files;_

Connor watched in solemn, if slightly confused, fascination as Liam placed Jethro on his bed, stripped him of his clothing except for the strange 'under- ' (he couldn't seem to get past the swear word in their name, even if everyone insisted it wasn't one 'in the States') - underclothing and rolled him onto his side before stroking the neat silver hair aside and watching Liam kiss Jethro's brow, wishing him well.

When Liam stood, Connor was taken aback by the turmoil he again saw. He still wasn't used to Liam looking anything other than angry, drunk, sleepy, happy or some convoluted mixture of the four.

Liam sighed and bit his lip hard enough that Connor was convinced he'd draw his own blood, but it didn't happen. "Father, I...thank you. He...he was a danger to himself and others.

"At least, this way, he won't hurt Ari or Ziva and he'll get the sleep he needs. Hopefully, when he wakes up he'll be less...biased. And certainly less impulsive."

Connor forced himself to stop from saying that sleep never kept Liam from being impulsive, but it was obvious that Liam figured out what he was thinking anyway because he took a deep breath, blinking, a tear, then another falling from his eyes, and Connor's stomach shriveled within himself.

"I-I am sorry, I did not mean - "

"You did, but you had good reason," Liam said morosely, closing his eyes momentarily before forcing them open again and swiping the tears from his face.

"I'm not that boy anymore," Liam said next, frowning at the floor for some unknown reason and then continuing. "I've changed a lot - I couldn't not change. I can't say I don't care if you never believe that, but it would bother me terribly if you continued to believe me the same person I was back then."

Then Liam's face hardened and he stared at Connor, his silver/gold eyes boring into Connor's own grey. Connor forced himself not to shiver, but didn't quite manage it. "I'm not."

"I know," Connor whispered, clenching his fists to try to still the shaking suddenly suffusing his entire body. "I've seen what you are an' - "

"And what?" Liam's voice hardened further and Connor immediately raised his hands in a nonthreatening gesture.

"Liam, please. Please believe me when I say I know. Ye don' have ter prove anythin' ter me anymore. I promise ye that."

Liam stilled, watching Connor, his only movement being blinking, those strange silver-gold eyes still cold and angry once more.

After several tense moments, Liam breathed in and out very deeply, his eyes closing and his shoulders slumping. Grimacing, Liam opened his eyes again.

"I'm sorry. I - when I put Leroy to sleep, I took his anger from him and his - everything but calm. I have to put it away until he's ready to handle it and then I'll give it back to him slowly. It was the only thing I could think of."

Connor felt himself become slightly dizzy, "Ye...you can do that? Bu' - " Connor stopped himself, knowing the answer would probably unnerve him even more than he already was.

"Never mind." He sighed, slightly surprised when Liam's hands alighted gently upon his shoulders and easily maneuvered him over to one of the chairs they'd never taken back down the stairs.

Connor sank into it gratefully and Liam tapped his chin, thinking before sighing and walking forward, tapping Jethro's blanket covered foot and muttering in Irish that he was going to take a little trip down into Leroy's trunk and hoped that he didn't mind.

Connor found himself unwittingly wondering what on earth Liam was talking about before Liam knelt down before the large trunk at the end of the bed and said in Irish, _Protection undone._ Then in Latin, _Guardian at rest._ Then something else in a language Connor didn't understand before opening it and stepping up onto the edge before stepping forward and disappearing completely as he apparently fell into...God only knew what.

Connor couldn't stop the sound of dismay that forced itself out of his throat before he got up and rushed over to the trunk, peering in only to see complete darkness.

"Liam!" he called, but there was no answer. Connor glanced at Jethro, but his grandson remained deeply asleep, his unmoving form not responding to anything Liam had said or just done. Torn between his charge and alerting someone to what had happened, Connor began to pace feverishly, frightened, muttering to himself in Irish.

Minutes passed, Connor becoming more and more tense before suddenly Liam came flying out of the trunk and his large body collided with Connor's more slight one, sending Connor to the ground, as well as the books Liam had retrieved from...wherever.

"WHERE THE BLOODY HELL WERE YE?" Connor yelled in Irish, scrambling to his feet. "THAT - "

Liam placed his hand over Connor's mouth and gave him a stern look. "You don't swear. Now's not the time to start," Liam said quietly, removing his hand and quickly bending to retrieve the books that had been scattered when they'd collided.

Connor was trying to catch his breath, his eyes still captivated by the pitch darkness glowing out of the trunk.

"That trunk has protection spells on it," Liam said quietly, handing his father half the stack of books he'd brought out. "You couldn't see me and I couldn't hear you for a reason. That trunk saved my son's life when he was a child and, to this day, holds decades of his possessions. But that doesn't matter.

"What matters is that who or whatever goes into it is safe, just as the incantation alluded. Here."

Liam tipped two piles of books into Connor's arms and continued, "You've never read these. They were all published after our time. I know that some of them are children's books, but I think you'll find them interesting all the same. The others - well, for instance, you probably want a Bible and - "

Liam reached into his breast pocket and pulled out what Connor immediately recognized as a rather ornate crucifix on a necklace. "I won't be giving this to you yet, but when I do, don't you ever take it off, not even to shower. I have my reasons that I'll explain to you when I give it to you. Okay?"

Connor took the Bible while Liam again pocketed the crucifix, Connor blinking at the way Liam's hands were not burning at the touch of the holy object. Liam likely figured out what he was thinking because he said, "They don't affect me that way anymore."

He sighed before kicking the lid of the trunk closed once more and reciting the incantations in reverse, this time causing the trunk to glow a muted white before becoming what it was before, a seemingly innocent-looking clothing trunk.

He tipped his head to the side before turning back to face Connor and seemed to think before walking back over to stand over his son's prone body, "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, I Pray the Lord my Soul to Keep and If I Die before I Wake, I Pray the Lord My Soul to Take. In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen."

Then Liam blessed Jethro and Connor was awed to see more white light flash throughout the entire room.

"Sleep well, my son." Liam gave Jethro another kiss on his brow and pulled open a drawer next to Jethro's head, removing a strange knife that opened when unfolded.

Without warning, Liam cut open his thumb and pressed it to Leroy's forehead.

Connor was mystified, completely confused and moreso when the bloody thumbprint sank into Jethro's skin without a trace.

"Don't ever think you're less of anything to me, understand? Don't you _ever_ think that I don't love you," Liam said sternly, pressing his own forehead to Jethro's and breathing harshly. It was only then that Connor noticed that Liam was crying.

"I couldn't convince your brothers of that until I had to kill them. Please don't make me have to kill you. I couldn't live with myself if I had to kill another one of my children. Please, Leroy. Know I love you. Always. Eternally. I don't have any favorites, I couldn't. Just know that."

Liam stood, pushing his sleeve across his face even as he said, "I have three sons. Two I couldn't save by anything except death. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, too."

Liam gave his head a small shake and then turned very sharply and walked out of the room without another word.

Connor found his gaze unerringly drawn to the floor and was shocked to see small drops of blood leading in a trail on the way out of the room, each one disappearing as the next fell.

_...I tried to be perfect, but nothing was worth it - I don't believe it makes me real...I thought it'd be easy, but no one believes me, I meant all the things I said..._

Angel closed the door behind himself, stumbling as he forced himself to breathe and fumbled for the wall behind him. Sliding down to the floor, he gasped for breath that didn't seem to come as Leroy's emotions overwhelmed him, images of Shannon and Kelly flashing through his head, pain lancing through it at the same time.

Biting back a groan, Angel clutched his head as he slid sideways to the floor and curled into a fetal position. Forcing himself to breathe, Angel watched as Leroy's worst nightmare, the one come true, played through his head again and again and again, feelings falling over him until he vomited and a white light flashed through his mind.

Then there was nothing before suddenly, he found himself on the floor in the hallway, his son, Connor, hunched over him while Wesley tried to coax his father back into Jethro's bedroom.

His father was yelling, but Angel couldn't understand what he was saying.

Connor leaned closer and knelt down, pulling Angel's body into his lap and taking the wet paper towels Kaitlin handed him, Connor's own voice saying something, but all he could understand was the warmth of the hot water in the paper towel as it passed over his nose, wiping firmly.

He was so tired, but he could feel his body tensing up again. Wes was telling Connor something now and Angel was being placed back on the floor, and then there was nothing again.

Wesley only just managed to convince Connor, Sr., to do as Angel had asked him to when Angel collapsed again, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

_Shite_, he thought worriedly, thoroughly unprepared for the idea of a supernatural creature having a fit or something of any kind. That seemed to be the case, however, as Angel's body went rigid once more, his head thudding against Connor, Jr.'s hand as he forced it behind his father's head so it wouldn't impact with the wall again.

"Connor, we're going to need to take your father - " "To the ER? I wasn't aware they serviced demons, Uncle Wes!" Wes forced out a breath before frowning.

"No. To his bed. He can't go to the ER. We're not even certain if he creates his own blood supply. If they were to take samples for testing, they'd find pig, cow, and God only knows what other species of blood, not to mention we're not even certain this is a seizure.

"His father said he took your brother's turbulent feelings into himself - we already know Angel has taken it upon himself to protect everyone in this house using his own body, mind, and soul - the toll this aegis is taking is likely the cause of this sudden collapse. It's too much for him to handle, Old One or no. Especially given that he doesn't seem to have control over every facet of his own being yet.

"His father described him experiencing fits like this while asleep and speaking as he did when he was a living man. That suggests that the Liam persona arises at night, his father's information being that that was when Angel has always been most active even before being Sired. From that, as well as your grandfather's descriptions, I would guess that Liam is experiencing delirium tremens just as Dr Mallard and Angel, himself, warned.

"It would seem that out of all of your father's current personae, Liam seems to be split off from the rest, causing a lack of cohesion within your father's body. I'm not entirely certain, but it seems that if we can unite all of them - Aurelius, Thomas, Liam, Angelus, and Angel - then perhaps your father's symptoms will cease.

"Unfortunately, we currently have no way of knowing exactly how much damage is being done to your father or why. The one thing we are certain of is that, as when Wolfram and Hart were trying to take Thomas back and the Superiors were bringing Aurelius back to the Deeper Well, if this damage is not stopped, we will likely be back in the same situation with Angel deteriorating, only this time, his mind will go, leaving the body and soul comatose for an unknown - possibly infinite, given his immortality - amount of time."

Wesley looked up at Connor then, who was staring down at his father's unconscious body, his face paler than Wesley had ever seen it.

It was Kaitlin who began to cry first, however, falling to her knees next to her brother and beginning to stroke her father's hair.

Connor gritted his teeth, his tongue playing along the inside of his mouth, as he thought before his head snapped up, "Ducky's morgue."

"What?" Wes asked, completely nonplussed.

Connor forced himself not to growl, "We take Dad to Ducky's morgue and you and he keep tabs on Dad, somehow - "

"No, that's the problem, Connor," Wesley interrupted, seeing where his godson was going with this but understanding the fundamental flaw.

"It was the same as the night you were born. We need monitors and other equipment we don't have random and steady access to. Not to mention, that while your father has more or less stabilized as far as heart rhythm, it's still not a human one. His heart skips every third beat, which is classified as an arrhythmia and would instantly set off alarms and bring attention we don't want or need.

"We would need that equipment here and we would need staff qualified in understanding demonic anatomy - not the actual organs, vampires have human organs - the function of those organs and how they work in accordance with species. It's one thing to find that in L.A. - all we would need there is a phone book.

"Washington, D.C., is an entirely different story. The demonic population here and its assimilation are entirely different. We need someone with resources, someone who knows your father and doesn't see him merely as a science project, as well. The Demon Research Initiative has always done just that, they are completely out of the question."

"Well, what about our stepmother? Buffy would have all that stuff, right? At the ICW in England? Couldn't they let a couple of people who know Dad and have the stuff to take care of him help out?"

"I doubt they'd be able to spare either Willow or Buffy since Angelus isn't roaming freely, terrorizing the population, nor is there anything putting the world in peril at this time."

"So? They should still be able to help! Willow's put Dad's soul back in twice. Faith's run around in his head twice - Willow once. Buffy's permanently attached to him, Faith is, too - and, I guess, Xander - Illyria always talks about acolytes - people to contain her life essence when it became too overwhelming and could destroy her. Voila! A list of willing candidates all over the world!"

Wes paused, blinking, "Dear God. I think you may be onto something. I-I gave your father my blood years ago, it might still be in his system, his metabolism works differently than a human's and he doesn't eliminate so my DNA's in there somewhere. Buffy's blood will always be in Angel's system - Faith's, as well.

"Angel took his father's blood when he...in the original timeline...That's four acolytes and/or his Mate already. It's a question of finding more who are willing to do so voluntarily, now, without the question of the world's outcome hanging in the balance. It's a matter of _choice_."

Connor, who had been feeling disgusted with himself at the mention of Wesley having to give his father his blood after Connor's treacherous act when he'd first returned to Earth, now straightened, blinking away the tears that threatened.

"I want to help. I want Dad to have my - "

"He has your blood," Wesley cut him off, a dark expression on his face. When Connor's face crumpled in confusion, Wes elaborated, "Wolfram and Hart spiked your father's blood supply with your blood from your well-baby checkups as an infant. He has your blood in his system. The only difference is that it was neither the choice of yourself or your father."

Wes finally stood, cradling Angel's head as Connor lifted his body and they took Angel to the room he'd chosen in his older son's house.

"If you're willing to give of yourself and do this of your own choosing, this will be different than before. And your father will only benefit, I must be honest."

"What the hell are you asking for, then? But we still need Ducky to take our blood, right? I mean, he's got the hematology equipment to make this nice and sterile and less of a mess."

Wes paused as they lay Angel down on his bed. "When are you going to admit you want to be a doctor?"

"Never, because I don't," Connor denied and Wes snorted.

"Yes, yes, yes. And I'm the Queen of England."

"God Save the - " Wes tapped Connor upside the head, stopping him mid-note.

_...You don't feel good here anymore..._

Tony dropped himself into his chair, for once understanding how much Gibbs loved coffee. This was his third cup in as many hours. He was _never_ drinking like that again. He scowled, imagining Abby bouncing around in the lab downstairs, hangover-free, and half-heartedly cursed his girlfriend for her foresight. Vodka. _Always vodka_.

He would have to talk to Gibbs about making that a rule. Which reminded him, he turned back to Gibbs' empty desk and still found himself confused and slightly sick - well, sicker - with worry. Gibbs _never_ missed work. What the hell was going on?

Sighing and draining the last of this cappucino, Tony trashed the cup and carefully stood up.

"Anyone who can stand elevators right now, could you please go get Abby and Ducky? We need to find out what's going on with Gibbs."

"Aw, Tony, didn't overdo it last night, did you?" Kate _Todd_ asked in a smug voice that made him want to throw something at her. He settled for making a face and another one as both Kates laughed at him. Again.

Screw them both, damn it. "Damn, it, Kate - this is _Gibbs_. Son of - Angel! Work? Never missed. Short of complete incapacitation...and I'm the senior agent..."

Finally something to smile about.

Kate Todd rolled her eyes generously, but shoved herself away from her desk anyway. "Fine, DiNozzo, I'll go get Abby. That way, she can play - what 'Android Lust' was it? All the way over to Gibbs' in the car."

Tony winced, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "Fine, fine!" Tony sighed, sitting back down carefully and picking up the phone. He punched the button for Abby's lab, praying to _God_ she wasn't playing anything...head-bursting this morning.

"Tony, hi!" Abby's normally upliftingly cheerful voice echoed out of the phone and he just about started to cry.

"Abby, Abs, _please_? Turn it down a - decibel or twenty?" He could just hear Abby rolling her eyes as she did as he complied.

"Vodka, Tony."

"So I've learned," he ground out, but tried to make his voice nicer for her (and his) sake. "Abby, Gibbs isn't here. That's, like - not normal. Seven's come and gone and our abnormally fearless leader has not shown his face or even let his voice echo across the floor." He paused. "I'm scared, Abs."

Abby sighed, remembering everything that Ducky had recounted in meticulous detail first thing this morning when she'd shown up and found Dr. Haswari helping both he and Gerald in the lab.

Dr. Haswari had needed bandages changed and she'd watched Ducky do so, peppering the (much) older doctor with all kinds of questions about himself and his younger sister, Ziva, who was curled up on one of the slabs asleep at the moment.

She had obviously forced herself to stay awake long enough to introduce herself as Officer Ziva David before finally Ducky had told her to get some rest and Dr. Haswari, too, when they were finished running the blood panels Ducky had taken from Haswari, Ziva, Angel, and Gibbs after everything had gone down the night before.

"ABBY!" Tony's agitated voice echoed through the phone and Abby jumped, immediately apologetic for getting distracted.

"Sorry! Sorrysorrysorry! Um, Tony - Gibbs, Angel, Dr. Haswari, Ziva - they had a - a thing last night."

"What? _Night of the Undead_ wasn't playing at the movies and they decided - "

Abby's voice hardened almost unrecognizably when she cut him off. "Finish that _joke_ and die, DiNozzo."

Tony froze, his eyes widening as he realized he'd royally fucked up. "I-I-I'm sorry, Abby. Really, I take it back. That was stupid."

"And?"

Tony fumbled for words, a chore Abby was almost certainly enjoying in his current state. Tony winced. He'd probably hurt her just as badly as his actual targets. _Fuuuuck._ "And insensitive, and morally repugnant and if Gibbs were here, he'd break my arm or something and I'd totally deserve it. I'm sorry."

Abby was silent for far longer than Tony would have preferred but it wasn't like he had room to complain. "You'll apologize to Gibbs, Angel, Dr. Haswari, and Officer David, DiNozzo."

Shit, she was still calling him DiNozzo and being all...Gibbs like. SHIT. Now, he was officially scared.

"Yep! I mean, yes. Yes, I will absolutely apologize. I was totally an asswipe."

"To say the least," Abby growled and Tony could just _tell_ she was signing insults about him by now.

_Yay for hands free technology._

"As I was saying," Abby bit out and Tony winced again. "Gibbs, Angel, Dr. Haswari, and Officer David - " Oh, shit. "Got into a thing last night. Bullets were fired. I don't know all the details because Ducky and Angel's dad and the Reillys were asked to stay out of supernatural range."

"You mean - " Tony quieted himself at the last possible second before glancing at Agent Lockley and asking, "The newbies are - they have serious overbites?"

He could hear Abby rolling her eyes at him and winced again. He'd really screwed himself this time.

"If by 'serious overbites' you mean 'are they Angel's blood relatives, that's none of your business, actually. You want to know them, you get to know them, jerk."

With that, Abby slammed the phone extra hard causing Tony to lurch away from his, yelping in pain as the sound of clacking plastic rang in his ears.

"Damn. Damndamndamn," he whispered, emptying the line before instead dialing Ducky in the morgue instead. Ducky answered with his customary cheerfulness, but this time Tony didn't complain.

"Ducky, um, Abby hates me so I'll just cut to the chase. We've got some new faces down there. Anything pertinent we should know about them before we come say hi?"

Ducky chuckled darkly, "I'm afraid, Anthony, my friend, that Abigail put you on three-way for that lovely little tête-à-tête you just exchanged with her. From the expression on Dr. Ari Haswari's face, it's rather best you don't come down here at all. His sister is awake and will probably know about your rather ill-thought out actions within the next twenty minutes."

Ducky sighed, "Don't come down here, my friend. Your - and this is a word before you complain - specist views were well-documented down here and you will have some - to quote Gibbs, who is currently on sick-leave, which I'm sure is the information you were trying to get all along before you swallowed your foot and decided it was delicious and so thought the other would be a lovely round of seconds, as well - _reporting_ to do on your less-than stellar brainwave activity this morning."

Ducky paused, "Actually, you should come down here and simply get your mea culpas over with. Bandages are best ripped off quickly if possible. See you very soon, Anthony. See you soon, my friend."

With that, Ducky hung up and Tony groaned, slumping in his chair. Great, first Abby hated him and now he was number one on probably the Angel family hit list. Just great.

"Batting a thousand, here, DiNozzo," he muttered, ticking his earlier statuses off on his fingers. "And now you've got a bunch of - what was it FBI!Kate called them? Undead Americans? Or is it Undead Israelis? - out for your..."

Tony felt himself get sick to his stomach all over again and hoped sincerely he didn't vomit again. "Oh, fuck."

When he looked at Agent Lockley, all she did was wiggle her fingers in greeting at him, give him the most smug smile she could possibly muster, and make herself more comfortable at Gibbs' desk, which he very well couldn't claim from her now.

Feeling like crying, Tony got up and dragged his feet over to the elevator, wondering if ducking into the mens' room to vomit would be a viable excuse for lateness.

Both Kates glanced at one another and then cackled before Kate Lockley got a call on her cell.

"Lockley.

"Pryce? Angel's _what_?

"Oh, God. Um, no, we - uh, well, apparently we've got some fresh blood down in the morgue - wait, they're what?

"You've - wait, your humor's drier than the Mohave. Never mind.

"Gibbs is asleep and stable, but Angel's had another bad trip? Why the hell does he think he can help the whole damned world? Oh, well, of course it's who he is.

"Summers, Rosenberg, and Lehane are calling over from England to help? Well, that's good. I'm pretty sure Fornell will let me use the satellite in his office. He says it's mine to use until I get back to Nyack. You need Scuito?"

Kate glanced at the way Tony had gone.

"Well, her boyfriend's swallowed both of his feet whole this morning so I'm sure he won't complain about her cooperation, even if he could. So, that's what? Five? Harris says Gibbs gave Angel a transfusion when he was twenty-one?"

Kate Todd's elbow slipped off the table and she grasped the desk so she wouldn't fall onto the floor. _A transfusion...oh, my God. Gibbs gave Angel his blood..._

"Angel got both his dad's and all three of his sons' blood at different points in his medical history, and you're telling me Harris is actually volunteering along with Summers, Lehane, and Rosenberg this time? I mean, I know Angel's hemophilia - well, yeah, that's true.

"Look, if it'll help, he can have some of mine, too - I owe him anyway. That shower he threw me way back when and all. What about you?

The other Kate laughed darkly then, "Well, ahoy, Ahab - I guess that's one way to land Moby Dick. I don't suppose Morgan's willing to - "

She then snorted. "Wes, I know you're going to be a new dad, but don't let your jitters forget basic obstetrics. Her entire blood supply replenishes itself every three hours. She won't miss it.

"Alright, alright - if you put it like that. Say, you wouldn't mind letting me be her godmother, wo - YES, Pryce, I'm joking! Gotta lighten the mood! Can't have you and your eternal dark cloud of woe bringing down the proceedings!

"Yes, I realize I'm not Cordelia Chase. You'll notice I actually have tact.

"Oh, get bent, English.

"Don't worry so much. Your blood brother will be safe and sound by tonight, or tomorrow morning, depending on how long this takes. Try to remember to breathe in the meantime. In and out. In and out. Yes, like that. Your lungs expanding, deflating, taking in air and helping you stay conscious, _too_."

Then Kate Todd watched as Kate Lockley made an intrigued face, "Wait, you're saying Rosenberg's recovery group is helping with the transfer? Right, right, it'd be way too much for Rosenberg to handle on her own. She'd get herself killed and we've got a lot of blood to move. Point taken.

"Oh, the baby fighters in the family demand to help, do they? Not one of them is of legal age. Their parents and guardians, maybe - huh, Summers is actually giving consent - well, I guess that does take care of Dawn, but Kaitlin? Her remaining parents would go ballistic the second they found out.

"Way to put your goddaughter on the chopping block, there - oh, you said no just like they did. Eesh. She can't be happy. Oh, the Reillys are going to volunteer in her place? She'll still be pissed, you know that, right?

"Oh, yeah, you're not putting your goddaughter on the chopping block, father or no. So why's Connor get to - holy - "

Lockley glanced around, covering her mouth, before clearing her throat and snapping into the phone. "You have got to be kidding me, Pryce. Please tell me this is one of the rare times your sense of humor takes a - his _pediatrician_ was on their payroll? I...Those Wolfram and Hart bastards know no lows. Oh, right - the staff, not the Senior Partners."

She then said in a slightly brighter tone, "Probably why the majority of the staff, if not all of it, is roasting in Hell right now. That's what you get when you try to kill your bosses' grandkid. Nyah. Morons. Don't they know metaphor or hyperbole when they see it? Oh, right, too busy trying to save their own asses to read their own vaunted fine print.

"Well, like I said, they're all in Hell. Such a pity. Hey, no chance the opposite end of the spectrum might not let biological mommy dearest come down again to give back a little of what she took, is there? I mean, it'd only be fair."

Lockley scoffed, "Oh, so she's incorporeal - they can't give her form just this once? She's so guilt-ridden and all. Yeah, you see about that - you're the one known for getting into all those dead air channels most of the rest of us can't touch. The only other one's currently in said deep sleep. I always wondered why he could do that and not perish the thought. Well, now I know.

"HEY, idea - Angel said you said something about having cousins and your mom who could - are you serious? It never once crossed your mind to call them? They're ninety percent responsible for what you knew by the age of ten and it never _once_ occurred to you to call them? You said they wanted to meet him, right? Well, then! Get your butt on the horn and start using those transatlantic minutes!

"Phone, scrying pool, whatever! CONTACT THEM! I'm going downstairs to see if a certain set of guilt-ridden foreign agents/assassins/one's a doctor want to help out. It's not like they don't already have diplomatic status. What do they care about that? If they love their father's father or care about what they were tricked into half as much as I think they do, they'll jump at the chance to make things right."

Kate sighed then, obviously listening to Mr. Wyndham-Pryce's newest response, "Wes, you know better than most - one step at a time. And if someone offers you a hand, you know better than to stab it with scissors this time, don't you?

"Okay, that might have been a bit low, but you have to be called out on your dumbass moves. How else are you not going to repeat them in different form? You're on your way now hang up and call your mom, grovel for her forgiveness for not telling her you were out of or _back_ in town and letting Angel do it - okay, so the first time wasn't your fault, but the second time sure as hell was now get your ass on the phone with her!"

Kate Lockley hung up before Wes could raise any objections and only then did Kate Todd see any worry cross her face.

Getting up and dropping herself in her chair, Kate set the coffee she'd been preparing on her desk and glanced across at Gibbs' empty desk before biting her lip and catching Kate Lockley's eye. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Lockley blinked in slight surprise before figuring Gibbs' team would know sooner or later. "You ever see _The X-Files: Fight the Future_?"

Todd shook her head no. "I've never watched any of The X-Files."

Lockley chuckled, "Coping mechanism. Okay, look. Mulder's drunk, right? Or just soliloquizing like one. He's only had one shot. Anyway, blah blah blah - _shitstorm of all time._"

Kate Todd's eyes widened as Kate Lockley sat back in her chair wishing to God she had a stake to carve or something useful. Before long, she got tired of sitting around.

"Look, come on. We've got to go downstairs. First of all, Village Idiot there's got to apologize and we want to see some of that that action. Second of all, we need to let Abby know the situation and get Ducky to start packing up."

_Fake it if you're out of directions, fake it if you don't belong..._

Both Kates stepped off the elevator, Todd taking a deep breath before doing so, only to hear from one end caffeinated yelling and Tony obviously trying and failing to get a word in edgewise - and silence coming from Ducky's morgue. Todd couldn't help but chuckle but decided to leave Abby and Tony to their 'privacy' and join Lockley in entering the morgue.

Immediately, Officer David was on her feet, her pistol aimed at the pair of them before she visibly relaxed and lowered it a fraction. "You are Agent Gibbs' subordinates, as well?" she asked in a thick Israeli accent and Kate Todd forced herself to take her own hand away from her Sig Sauer. "I am."

"I'm on loan from the FBI Demon Liason Field Office in New York," Lockley confirmed and Officer David slowly lowered her weapon.

Behind her, Dr. Haswari laughed with an eerie tone to it that made the hair on both their necks stand up and Lockley forced herself to hold his eyes with her own despite feeling more creeped out in his presence than any other demon she'd ever encountered, excepting the angry and defensive ones.

And, she easily reasoned, why wouldn't he be? If it weren't for his own nephew, he wouldn't have that bullet hole in his arm.

"They smell like our dear nephew, well - " he said in the same very precise Israeli-accented English as his sister and gestured toward Todd. "She does...like Agent DiNozzo who so insulted us, _Sab_a and even his own superior, our dear nephew, there." Dr. Haswari hopped up from Ducky's counter, wearing a white lab coat with his name monogrammed on the left side and green scrubs.

"Tell me, Agent Todd - or, Caitlin, is it? Yes, I rather like calling you Caitlin better. I have a feeling we will get to know one another quite well."

Dr. Haswari smiled and Kate felt a shudder down her spine and her eyes closed before she could stop them. Forcing her eyes back open, she was terribly close to pulling her gun back out, but something about his face...it was the face of a killer, there was no doubt about that, but...his eyes. They were...they simply weren't. Something in her told her that he wouldn't hurt her if he could help it. And that he'd try his hardest not to do so.

"I'm Agent Gibbs' - one of his agents, yes. Special Agent Caitl - "

Kate forced herself to stop even as the grin on Dr. Haswari's face widened and his all-too-human looking features brightened in all too rare(she could tell) amusement. "Kate Todd. And you are?"

Dr. Haswari scoffed, a slight chuckle on his lips. "Oh, come now, Caitlin, you already know who I am."

Kate took a deep breath, then another. "Dr. Ari Haswari. Your sister is Officer Ziva David. Why are you here?"

Ducky flinched as did Kate Lockley, but Officer David and...Ari both smiled sadly. "We are here because we have no family. We would like one. We have very few options left. Do you have family, Caitlin?"

Kate raised her eyebrow, trying to discern Ari's motive, but found she couldn't. She glanced at Kate Lockley, who silently urged her to answer the question. "I have family, yes."

Ari's smile grew wider and he reached into his lab coat and removed a silenced gun, ignoring both Kate Lockley and Kate Todd aiming theirs back at him, before placing it on the countertop. Ari glanced at their guns and shook his head, his smile faltering only a bit even as he turned with inhuman grace and propelled himself up onto the nearest open slab, leaving his gun where it was.

"I am not here to hurt anyone else," Ari said calmly glancing at his sister, who lowered her own weapon again, in turn. "Remember, Ziva, _Saba_ did say you'd lose the use of your arm if you kept threatening everyone."

A distinct growl could be heard issuing from Ziva, but she lowered her own pistol all the same. Ari looked at Kate Todd again.

"Our grandfather, I believe one of you met him recently and one of you knows him of relatively old. A man of so many names - who can keep track, really? A humanly ancient man, though he doesn't look it. No more than our father did, than we do."

"Ari," Ziva said in quiet warning but with a slightly plaintive note to it. Ari frowned,

"Just because Papa said he was nothing to us anymore does not make it so. I refuse to ignore my lineage, Ziva, do you plan to ignore yours? Tell me now and I shall grant your request."

"You would kill me?" Ziva asked sharply, a disbelieving laugh on the tail of her words, but Ari scoffed again.

"I could no sooner cut off my own arm. You notice - murder, amputation, one always needs someone else to do it for them. Well...not in the case of suicide. Are you suicidal, my dearest little sister?"

"No," Ziva snapped, jumping up with inhuman accuracy and twisting in such a way that landed her on her feet. Kate Lockley noticed immediately that the only other person she'd ever seen do anything like that was Angel. "But it sounds as though if I were to say yes, you would begin carrying out Papa's insane request. That's what it was, insane, Brother."

Ari sighed, "I am well aware. I have no intention of killing _Saba_, Agent Gibbs, our little Destroyer, our little aunt, or anyone close to them. But death is in our blood, you know it is, Sister. Whatever else can we do? Whatever else do we know _how_ to do?"

Ziva frowned then, gesturing to Ari's coat. "You forget your training, Brother. You put people back together again."

"I watched my mother, a Slayer just as yours and Talia's were, die while doing so. I find I may have lost my taste for merely wading in blood, pulling out parts and deciding where they go after someone else has so insidiously pulled them apart. I find I may have lost my taste for cookie cutter medicine. Whatever shall I do, little sister, death is in our blood - it is who we are. What did we dream _Saba_'s mate said?"

"_Death is my gift,_" Ziva and Ari said together and older brother offered little sister another wan smile.

"You dreamed it just as I did. What am I to do? I shall die before the Demon Research Initiative has any part of this mind, this body, soul. I will kill."

"As will I," Ziva snarled, bitterness on her tongue at the mere thought of the bastards who used _Saba_ but inadvertently brought him and Papa together.

"Oh, they do not like oaths such as ours here," Ari continued, their conversation circling the humans around them, taking into account yet disregarding them all at once. "And those who want us for their toys do not like one such as me, such as our little Destroyer...we felt the Activation just as all others like you did. But we are men. They have no use for men. We are but chickens to them, to be ground up and fed to the living. Death is our gift."

"They cannot have you," Ziva whispered, tears coming to her eyes, the first emotion aside from anger that she'd shown since Ducky had first met her. "I do not know _Saba_'s son, but they cannot have him, either. You are a man, yes, but he is only a boy. Is it not enough that he was thrown into and spat out of that _Hell_?"

"Thrown in, spat out. Such repetitiveness," Ari said quietly. "Connor is not Angel, just as Liam was not Connor. Why such use, again and again?"

Ari turned to Kate Lockley, who had patiently listened to his and his sister's conversation as though it were an everyday matter. For her, though, he knew, it was. "You hated him. Why did you stop?"

Kate Lockley took a deep breath. "I stopped and I thought and I realized that there was only so much he could do. Do I assume correctly that your father thought Angel should have saved everyone on that U-Boat?"

Ari smiled again now, but this time it was saddened.

"I believe you are. Our father believed so deeply that our grandfather should have been able to save everyone, do as he was ordered - he felt our grandfather in dereliction of duty. Our grandfather feels the same way. That is the point.

"I dreamed that Angelus asked Captain Holtz, the man who willingly sold his soul to the Devil to steal _Saba_'s youngest from him, once in a letter, _How can you save others when you cannot save your own?_

"Those words have echoed through time, have they not? I could not save my mother, nor my youngest sister. We could not save our father. _Saba_ could not save our father. His father could not save him. _Saba_ could not save his youngest son. Even Agent Gibbs...I expect he would behead me should I use his name...could not save his wife and daughter. Is that our lot, our family?

"Are those the permanent stains our souls shall bear? Not even Darla, when she came to this plane to stop her son, could do naught but fail. I dreamed my father when he visited our grandfather. _One man damned for future generations_."

Ari looked into space, seemingly unable to decide which direction to gaze, "No, Papa. We are all damned. _Saba_ said it himself. He cannot save us. Connor said that, himself, _You cannot be saved by a lie. You cannot be saved at all._ So _Saba_ slit his throat."

Ari lunged to his feet and before he could be tracked was standing before Kate Todd, who, despite her best efforts, was trying to hold back gasping tears. "Do me this one favor, Caitlin. If you feel I cannot be saved, destroy me. It is the right thing to do."

"Ari!" Ziva snarled, but Ari whirled around and glared at her, his eyes wide in anger.

"You would do it! If I were a stain on our family's honor as _Papa_ became - " here Ari spat his father's pet name out like bile. "Allowed himself to become...you would kill me. And I would welcome you to it. I could not live if I became worse than I already am. Your blood lives, Ziva. Talia's blood lives - in our homeland, they _live_!

"Mine is dead! Even my mother's family, though they felt indebted to Papa for saving their lives, they knew he longed to kill them. They always wondered the same about me - _when will he rend us? When will he kill us?_ They never knew the idea abhorrent to me. _Abba_ took that - took my soul and smashed it to pieces - brought the same emptiness in his heart into mine! HE MADE ME KILL! You felt it your duty, your Calling - but I am only a man.

"Connor wasn't a _Destroyer_ until Captain Daniel Holtz lay hand upon him. We were not Slayers. We were not Death walking in the land. We weren't even vampires. We were in between and what is in between? A gap. Nothing."

"That's not true," Kate Todd interrupted before she could stop herself, her eyes widening as her hands clapped over her mouth.

Ducky stood behind Ari, his face crestfallen in despair for the seemingly young man before him.

Everyone stared at Kate Todd, then, watching as she pursed her lips and breathed out purposely through her nose.

"That's not true," she repeated more quietly.

"You know nothing," Ari whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears but then he let out a cry of surprise when Ziva's knife went flying toward Kate Todd with unerring accuracy.

_I know the pieces fit because I watched them fall away, mildewed and smoldering - fundamental differing..._

Tony hid under the same table he'd only days earlier (God, days? It felt like years!) lay with Abby, discussing his world being thrown upside down and inside out. Rather like his stomach less than a half-hour ago.

He simply sat and let Abby get her anger at him out of her system, knowing interrupting or trying to make amends before it was time was only going to make things worse.

Tony sighed inwardly and wondered how the hell he seemed to get himself into crap like this. Hell, he already knew. Gibbs' smacks on the back of his head told him as much. Him and his big mouth. Hell, Gibbs had already told _Angel_ as much!

"And you know why Connor doesn't speak to you or do anything for when your computers break down and Agent McGee has to come all the way from Norfolk and you have to use a substitute until then? Because your head's up your butt, Tony, that's why! You really think Angel and Gibbs and Connor and, and everyone they know who's not human is somehow awful? So does that mean anybody who's different is bad, huh, Tony?"

"Wha-hey - whoa!" Tony jumped up, but forgot he was under a table and hit his head with a spectacular bang. Biting back the scream he wanted to let out, he waved his arms. "Abby, no! No, I never said that! Is - God, Abby, you - NO!"

Tony couldn't figure out anything else to say to make his feelings known so he hurried over, ignoring the throbbing from yet another bump on the head in so few days. Without paying heed to Abby's protests, hearing only the sound of her starting to cry, Tony grabbed her up in a hug and squeezed her in his arms, planting kisses all over her once-immaculate pigtails.

He could feel the heat of her tears dampening his shirt even as she signed as best as she could against his chest and Tony could have kicked himself as hard as possible in the back of his own head.

"Abby, I'm an idiot. I never, ever, _ever_ meant that. There's nothing wrong with anyone being different - not you, not your mom and dad, not Gibbs, not - "

"Gibbs' wife, daughter, father, his father's sons, daughters - "

Tony nodded madly, "Yeah, I - deaf, demon, Slayer, Watcher, demon hunter, none of it matters. It's all fantastic as far as I care."

"The world almost ended in May," Abby sniffled, her tone still bothered but Tony could tell it was less so. Tony froze before forcing himself to relax.

"And it was stopped. The ones who did it may have been demons, but - hey - humans are crazy, too, right?"

"Don't ever say what you said again," Abby ground out and Tony's eyes slid shut in utmost remorse.

"If I do, you're...well, hell, you're probably kicking me out of bed for this already. If it happens again...two months...or something."

After some time, Abby finally squeezed him back and Tony breathed as best a sigh of relief as he could. "Or something," Abby echoed and Tony's pall of dread deepened again, if only slightly. Damn, he better be on his toes from now on.

_She fills my bed with gasoline, you think I would have noticed..._

Ari waved his hand, snapping strict Latinate, "_From something, nothing_!", Ziva's knife vaporizing into nothing, before stomping over and holding out a hand to help Caitlin out of the crouch Ziva had forced her into.

Once he was certain she was fine, he rounded on Ziva and began yelling at her in German, further spurred by her absolutely smug smile.

"What the hell is so damned funny?"

"You think you're a killer," Ziva retorted effortlessly, switching to Russian.

"So? Papa - "

"Didn't know who he was dealing with," Ziva finally cut him off in English. "Go to your mate. It is obvious from here."

Ari blinked, his face becoming creased in contemplation. He glanced at Caitlin, who was wide-eyed and shaking with fear even though, to her immense credit, that did not show. "We will talk later."

"Yes, Brother, go," Ziva shooed, praying to God this Caitlin would pull her brother away from the cliff he stood atop before it was too late.

As Ari wrapped his arm around Caitlin's shoulders and led her out of the morgue, Ziva sat back with the first sense of satisfaction she had felt in nearly a week. _Take care of him_, she told Caitlin even though the human wouldn't hear it. _He is all I truly have left._

_...You think someone's trying to show us a sign..._

...TBC...


	25. Exposure

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Mutant Enemy, Bellasarius, and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape.

Fall Out Boy. "Folie à Deux.". Fueled by Ramen, Decaydance. 2009.

**Summary:** It had come slowly over the previous day or so, seeping into his consciousness like winter into one's bones. It had come into his entire body and gripped him like a Venus Flytrap and, here he was, unable to get free...or was it unwilling?

**Spoilers:** Well, it's completely departed from both canons, so - nothing, really.

**Inspiration:** 'Not Fade Away'. Cyvus Vail's death, very specifically.

**Rating: M**

**Notes:** Screw it. It's been too long. I give in and press the 'update story' button.

**Timeline:** For those who need reminding at this point (we can all thank my writer's block *kicks it*), post-AtS; AtF notwithstanding, though it's inspired some stuff; BtVS S8 has _**NOT**_ happened, and the NCIS timeline has been fiddled with to match that of the Jossverse.

Part XXIV: Exposure

_I'm a mascot for what you've become..._

Wes hung up the phone after talking to Kate Lockley and took a deep breath and then another. He balled his fists and let them relax before finally giving in and balling the right one again to let a blinding sphere grow outward as he slowly opened his palm.

Letting it dissipate as if flicking a light switch downward, Wesley cursed under his breath before exhaling shakily and getting to his feet again. He glanced backward at Lilah, who'd been asleep since breakfast. He could hear her heartbeat, hear those of everyone's in the house. He faintly wondered if that was how Angel, Spike, Connor, and Jethro had always experienced things - well, not always, in the case of the former two, but long enough to completely count.

He wondered why Lilah didn't wake up when he kept shining what seemed to him a lighthouse right in her face. He wondered so many things now. Fear continued to rear its ugly head over and over, causing him to break out in a cold sweat as he thought about the ramifications of what had probably happened to him...that night. Illyria had divined his thoughts, that there was no happy ending for him - and here was simply more proof.

Certainly, he would be a father sooner rather than later - and here he'd been astounded when Darla had shown up at the Hyperion carrying Connor; this seemed of no contest, at least in his mind.

He remembered dying, remembered it quite vividly. For some reason, that wasn't the part of that night which gave him nightmares. He remembered everything beforehand and everything...after...

It had come slowly over the previous day or so, seeping into his consciousness like winter into one's bones. It had come into his entire body and gripped him like a Venus Flytrap and, here he was, unable to get free...or was it unwilling?

He had watched, somewhere outside his body, as Fred had returned to Illyria's form and smashed Cyvus Vail's head in, ancient magick suffusing the room as though water in a flash flood - Illyria had, through her hardened shell of Fred's original viscera, remained largely unaffected except for her original powers returning and, this time, her mastery of them, as well. It was no longer the case as when they'd needed to deplete them in order to keep the West Coast from being decimated and, in any case, it had happened anyway, though not by Illyria's hands, but the Senior Partners - and even then, only humanistically. You were forced to say that the distaster wrought was mostly mental and emotional.

He was wandering in his thoughts again. He found it so hard to remain on track with one now - he'd put so much practice into holding his other thoughts at bay in order to concentrate on the most important at whichever time and now that was all for naught, at least for now.

He wondered if this was what Angel - and Connor - had meant by that lorry full coming down upon them. He imagined they might still not know he understood intimately. Even when Angel had held him as he'd cried and forced him to stop drowning these extra thoughts and...God, whatever else he was capable of now - in alcohol in favor of being clear-minded for his daughter's sake -

It hadn't worked.

Bourbon, gin, whiskey more powerful than even he was used to drinking and it had done next to nothing. He might as well have been drinking the actual water the whiskey referred to. He now supposed Lorne simply liked the taste of Sea Breezes...drunkeness didn't seem to be an option anymore. Angel had even clarified that his blood hadn't been saturated at all and he'd been plowing through potent alcohol for more than three hours at that point. It was useless and he was so afraid with no way to dull that fear.

Fear of what kind of father he'd be. Angel. He couldn't help but wonder again and again how Angel had conquered his own fear of becoming like his father in his sons' eyes - despite even failing in Connor's case once upon a time - to try again and again and...

And here, Wes couldn't help but turn to watch Lilah sleeping, the roundness of her belly rising gently with each slow breath. He couldn't help but lay his hand upon her belly and close his eyes, his mind delving inside to watch his daughter curled up, her lazily half-open eyes seemingly recognizing that her father was there with her. She opened her mouth and her lips turned upward in the most infintesimal of tiny smiles on such a little girl. She was smiling at him. Smiling that they'd eventually be together.

He liked to think that. It was the only bright thought he could muster in these perilous moments when he felt as if he'd collapse within himself if he wasn't careful. He had to be careful.

For her.

He had to figure out how to tell the others without them believing he'd been - well, Angel had already realized it really was him, but he had been able to tell by the very slightly odd look his best mate had given him that Angel had been able to see something was different even if he hadn't been able to figure out what at the time.

He knew Angel would eventually, that Angel _did_. His best friend, despite constant aspersions by the woman Wes happened to love more than was logical or even safe, was extremely bright, as were his sons - particularly the sociopathic one who'd held himself, Gunn, Lorne, and...Fred...like multiple knives against his father's throat simply because he'd known said vampire so well. And, surely enough, Angel had acted exactly the part...Sam...had needed him to.

Wesley had heard Angel cry, himself, quietly sending an entreaty to his oldest remaining son (at one time, only) that he not force Angel to destroy him, as well.

Wes had heard the bitterness and heartbreak in Angel's voice, the anger and gut-rending pain in the truths he'd spoken.

Had felt the light magick and the blessings Angel had performed, trying his damnedest to exorcise his child of the horror that had been eating him alive since Jethro's own wife and child had been killed, try as the man might ignore it.

Wesley had felt everything and, without even realizing it at first, had poured some of this new magick of his own into Angel's prayers, hoping to spare Angel more of what he'd already gone through so many times.

For them.

He was positive Angel had been able to feel it, yet somehow - for some reason - had allowed it anyway, despite Wesley's many, many screw-ups of such nature.

He'd never know why. For all Wes knew, he was why Angel was currently completely unconscious after suffering two actual generalized seizures - a vampire, of all creatures. The idea that he'd hurt Angel yet again...if he still had the weaponry he'd put so much time and energy into, he'd run himself back through and put everyone out of the misery of his existence.

But wasn't that what Connor, his own godson, had glared and nearly beaten him to a pulp about implying?

Wes called his daughter her name in his mind. He wondered now if she could hear him. He never looked at his own body anymore, thoroughly afraid of what he'd find there. He ate and acted the human he'd been...didn't know if he still was.

He didn't need to do these things, he didn't think, but he did them anyway because clinging to the flawed, fallible human man he'd been before that night with Vail was all he could do.

He found it strange that he'd been sent to see his father after this...contamination - sent to hear what Roger Wyndham-Pryce had told him.

Still, there was obviously nothing he could do to change anything now. God help him, Vail's words repeated themselves again and again as if on a loop in his brain while spells and incantations he'd never known before showed themselves behind his eyes when he closed them, when he slept.

_I crap better magick than that. Now, boy, let me show you what a real wizard can do..._

He'd made love to Lilah with his eyes open. Closing them wasn't an option now. He was afraid his passion would somehow send surges of white-hot magick through his hands and he'd incinerate her...Liliana...

The part of him that wasn't completely petrified was infinitely relieved it all seemed to be light, even if he didn't understand it.

He'd been awash in black magick as he'd died. Vengeance magick, death magick, anger, pain, and sadism. It was the same magick that had coursed through Angel since the Romany had restored his soul so long ago, the same magick that had slowly driven Angelus mad in the presence of the soul...in the presence, Wesley now knew, of Liam and Thomas - Angel's inner consciences, _Protector_ and _Twin_ - for just over a century.

Angelus hadn't been able to take their presence at the time, not after so long in the utter peace of complete lack of conscience or any ideas of love. Being confronted with feelings, emotions, sheer _need_ for his _Slayer_, of all beings, after so long being the heartless, cruel, sadistic impulses Liam had never acted on, no matter how tempted he may or may not have been as a (mostly) human man...

Angelus hadn't stood a chance.

Wesley knew he had been off his nut _before_ his death - now he felt strangely clear-headed and understood more than he'd ever known, even before he'd given up the teachings of the _Ainbheartach_ at age eleven to take up the mantle of one meant someday to be a Watcher (albeit one of the worst to ever serve the Council out of merely being a giant, incompetent ponce) under his father's vicious tutelage.

It was all back now, no longer faint, weak and failing, within his mind and body - magick and its purposes, clear as day. Knowledge of everything he was now capable of dancing right at the edge of his tongue and God only knew what he could do with any of it.

He knew how Willow had gone mad, temporarily, with grief and rage - her magick surging within her until it had nearly suffocated her with its sheer _feeling_.

And now he knew Lilah would be taken from him again, for the _third_ time, once their...little girl was born. Bargains with God and the Devil weren't meant to be circumvented, after all. He was terrified how he would handle it, completely undone with the fear of it all. Xander had been there with a yellow crayon. Wesley had never used crayons. He was adrift in the wind.

Wesley closed his eyes and clenched his fists again, coming to stand before the opposite wall as he let this new existence wash over him.

Giving in. He didn't see any other option at the moment. This time, though, he would heed Kate's words and let himself be helped.

He owed his daughter as much and more than that.

Though now he had Cyvus Vail's millenia of spellwork and damnation to deal with. He was bloody well fucked.

_...My body is an orphanage, we take everyone in..._


	26. Backtalk

**Middle Son**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Mutant Enemy, Bellasarius, and all involved are the geniuses behind these characters. I just borrow them at times to manipulate them much like action figures before returning them slightly abused but generally in good shape.

Taking Back Sunday. "Louder Now". Hollywood. 2006.

**Summary: **"Wanted to see a familiar face?" Lilah sneered, but Lindsey forced himself to hold his ground.

**Spoilers: **Well, it's completely departed from both canons, so - nothing, really.

**Inspiration:** 'Not Fade Away'. Also **adoxerella**, particularly **leelaa**, and **mendenbar **deserve a certain (large) amount of credit for letting me know this story has been far from forgotten.

**Rating: M**

**Notes:** So suddenly I was reminded of their presence and that led to me remembering their quite storied history within AtS canon...also, I shake my fist at **adoxerella** and her bloody _Black Butler_. *shakes fist*

**Timeline:** For those who need reminding at this point (we can all thank my writer's block *kicks it*), post-AtS; AtF notwithstanding, though it's inspired some stuff; BtVS S8 has _**NOT **_happened, and the NCIS timeline has been fiddled with to match that of the Jossverse.

Part XXV: Backtalk

_The whole truth and nothin' but the truth - stop me if you've heard this one before...The whole truth is nothin' but a good excuse..._

Lindsey slowly, carefully made his way down the hall of this crazy-assed house that he was partially convinced the Senior Partners - the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart's way of letting him know he had trespassed not only upon them, but their _descendants_ - holy hell, the Partners had _descendants_ and he and Lilah had spent the last five or so years of their respective careers trying to _kill _them!

_They really don't tell you people anything, do they? _he'd heard Angel's voice down in that basement right before he was released and there had been a definite mocking edge to it, telling him he'd screwed up in so many ways, there was never going to be any recompense.

Not that the word had ever really come to his mind before. Even with those three children he'd helped - God, Angel, a _Child of the Senior Partners_, just like the love of his life, Eve, _another_- get to safety in direct violation of the earthly company's policy.

In reality, he knew now that the Powers That Be - God's Hands on Earth - and the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart - the Hands of the Devil that had controlled what he'd thought were the direct lines to the Senior Partners, how wrong had he been? - were forever playing a sort of one-upmanship sort of game with one another, with Angel, Eve, and that psycho Marcus as their central players, both using Angel on their team whenever they had a particular shot to take at the other. Sometimes at the same time.

Right now, even, they were still jockeying for the souls of every single person Angel had ever killed, or had been until Angel had made his choice to retain all sides of himself within the unbelievable shell they inhabited on Earth. Lindsey would call it petty, but considering the previous more than a year of his life, he didn't feel like courting their anger again. He'd finally learned his lesson once and for all and now was an excellent way to show that.

Lindsey stopped, panting in exhaustion, but managed to bring his shaking - mockingly unharmed - hand up to his face and forced himself to stare at it, now enraged but forcing himself to tamp it down or he'd expend the rest of the meager energy he did have to get to his destination and it was bad enough that it felt like the halls of this house shifted and moved fluidly, seemingly purposely making this trip onerous and without end simply because it recognized that he, like Lilah, who he knew had to be escorted by Pryce the same way Eve had needed to bring him anything he needed, shouldn't be here.

They were intruders and cursed ones, at that. He wondered if that was God's personal doing, forcibly showing him the physical map of his errant ways. It didn't start with this evil hand of his, but that had been the worst. It had all but turned him into a malfeasant demon, slavering at the feet of the evil it served.

He wanted it gone, _now_.

_...unhand me, God damn me..._

He'd been serious when he'd told Eve he wanted this innumerably damned hand removed once and for all and would be glad with the arm he had left, thankful like he should have been that Angel hadn't cut his head off instead. It had taken him far too long, with too many dips back into the tempting well of power and goals he never would have reached no matter how hard he tried - they'd shown him that much when a pacifistic anagogic demon, of all things, had been the one to end his life, not Angel, as he felt he'd deserved. Simple bullets instead of a charged battle to the finish. Granted, he was always going to lose - hell, he'd even listened as Angel reminded him that he was the most prolific serial killer that Lindsey had ever known and Lindsey had even conceded that he'd never given him his proper dues for that...

But then his piper had come to be paid and a flunkie had turned on him, shooting him point blank.

It was like a bad dream.

He hadn't even had the stones to tell Eve how he'd died and she'd asked several times by now. She could call on her own powers and find out, but she wanted to trust him to tell her. Problem was, he was too much of a coward to do so.

_...So long as you don't torture me with my past, let's be honest, a secret silent is a secret safe..._

Lindsey very gingerly shook his head, trying to rid himself of memories of that night, but knowing it to be a futile gesture. It'd stay with him as long as he li - could one call this living? He had been literally rotting and was still falling apart at the seams. Angel had held true to his promise to his little - to Eve, Lindsey corrected himself, knowing he couldn't allow himself to acknowledge their 'familial' bond as long as...

Lindsey closed his eyes, shoving every thought away and simply forcing himself to forge toward his destination.

It was a long and arduous trip to the bathroom, this was downright torturous, but he pushed himself until finally he was where he knew Pryce and Lilah now slept.

So many people in this house had been dead at some point, some longer than others, but he wanted answers about this. Wanted to see this for himself, unable to take Eve's word for it no matter how much he loved and trusted her otherwise.

Slowly raising the unharmed demon hand, Lindsey managed to knock three times before Lilah's surprised voice sounded on the other side, telling whoever it was to come in.

Lindsey again used the demon hand to open the door and found himself gasping in shock.

There sat Lilah, at least four months _pregnant_in an armchair here in Pryce's room, reading what he immediately recognized as a section of a codex, likely the one gifted to Pryce when he joined the firm, one he knew was really a Wolf, Ram, and Hart 'family heirloom', if you could call it that. A family, an heirloom.

"Jesus Christ, Lilah," he spouted before he could stop himself. "What the hell?"

"I'm not dignifying that with a response," Lilah said flatly before going back to her reading.

"Pryce? Poindexter, are you serious?"

It was then that Lilah looked away from her reading again to shoot him a look that Lindsey actually feared might make him fall fully apart. "If you call him that again, I'll have what passes for your brain ripped out through your eye sockets and shoved into your lungs, got it, zombie?"

Her voice was so serious, Lindsey actually swallowed and found himself speechless for a moment. When he spoke again, it was merely a croak, "You - you ac - you love 'im."

Lilah gritted her teeth before closing the book and placing it in a would-be calm way on the table she sat near, which was stacked high with more volumes of the codex, likely courtesy of Angel.

"MacDonald, you better have a good damned reason for being here..." Lilah let the threat in her voice trail off, knowing Lindsey know she was completely serious.

"I..."

"Wanted to see a familiar face?" Lilah sneered, but Lindsey forced himself to hold his ground.

"Well, more or less. I...heard you were about and wanted to see - "

"If I was a half-dead wreck like you are? Sorry to disappoint."

Lindsey ignored the jibe, as usual, and got on with business, "No, uh, Eve told me that eventually you'll be going back to your contract in the Hell Branch. I just..."

"Wanted to see why I was granted a reprieve. Hell, Lindsey, I never figured you for a rubbernecker, especially in your condition."

Lindsey sighed before he realized he was exhausted and found himself running out of breath.

Lilah was smiling vindictively as Lindsey began sagging toward the floor, his utter exhaustion beginning to overcome him, and merely waved as he eventually found himself on his back, gasping.

"Having fun down there?" Lilah said without bothering to hide the mockery in her voice or get up, though Lindsey figured that had more to do with being pregnant and being unable to lift him. When he didn't answer, Lilah rolled her eyes and picked up the phone, pressing a button that he assumed was the intercom.

"Oh, Eve, your - " Lilah cut her sing-song tone off, obviously remembering who she was talking to, before sighing, "Your boyfriend somehow made it to mine and Wes' room and now he's lost all control of his muscles. He's on the floor, he - "

Lilah would have continued if Eve hadn't suddenly appeared right next to Lindsey before immediately bending down to check his pulse. Lindsey watched as Lilah put the phone down and simply sat silently except for the words, "My apologies,"

"You're damned right, your apologies, you leech," Eve spat but, to her credit, Lindsey didn't see Lilah move not one muscle in response. He turned his eyes to Eve and she began to speak again, "What were you thinking, coming down here? You could have gotten lost - you know this house repels strangers and, according to Angel, you and Lilah are still classified as such. You could have ended up in some soundproofed closet or something and then I never would have found you until it was too late!"

Eve was crying again and Lindsey cringed inwardly, but mustered up enough energy to explain, "I...needed to see...Lilah...we worked...side by side...for way too long...for me...not to...be curious...about her now. 'Sides, Pryce...was talkin' 'bout...life debts to...fix all...this. I...saved her...from the...Partners...by givin' up...the Head of Special...Projects Division...title. She'd be...dead, weren't...for me."

Eve suddenly understood, which - Lindsey could see - brought a strange new fear into Lilah's eyes. Eve, everyone knew, didn't give a damn about her, Pryce, or their kid, not like Angel did, and would use that life to restore Lindsey's body in but a moment.

But...

"Wait! Baby...no...that's...not what I want...that'd...be like...keepin'...this hand. I was talkin' mystical, and with Lilah's word, not the kid. Kid's done nothin' to deserve bein' killed and...Angel would...destroy you like he killed your...other brother...you take an...innocent life...'specially in...his child's house. We know Gibbs...lost his...only child...his daughter...Angel's granddaughter - a great-granddaughter to the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart...to paranoia, but revenge? Angel'd kill you...thousand times over. Then the Senior Partners...would come after you. Please, baby."

Eve surveyed Lindsey's rag-doll-like body for a moment before lowering the hands that she'd raised, "You and your soft-spot for kids. Alright, so you're right. Morgan, what would you give to keep your daughter safe?"

Lilah's eyes, already wide with fear, her hands desperately splayed over her belly, tensed up once more. "Anything, just so long as she is allowed to be with her father, as per your deal with Angel. That's all I want, I know I can't have Wesley anymore."

Eve raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "Well, I'm not as maudlin or forgiving as my far-too-humanized brother so you can forget any ideas of complete and utter mercy. When Lindsey loved Darla, you ordered that she be staked, no matter the consequences. He fought for her, the same as he'd fight for me. Would you fight for Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, for your daughter, _Liliana Morgan Wyndham-Pryce_?"

At Lilah's face draining of blood, Eve smiled wickedly, but Lilah forced herself to croak now, "Y-yes. Please. W-what do you want? Please? For my daughter and her father's safety, what do you want?"

"I want your blood," Eve said simply. Lilah blanched, blinking furiously as tears began to wend their way down her throat. "Your body is currently coursing with blood - mystical blood, no less - with healing powers a thousand times over a normal human's. More. Slayer blood. I want it, for Lindsey.

"Give me a full cup and not only will I continue my brother's mercy in allowing you to say Pryce's name, but your daughter will be brought under the full protection of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart, the first Slayer to be so. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce being the first Watcher to Watch his own child, a Slayer, in addition to working for this NCIS my brother and his offspring are far too wedded to - will be, as well."

Eve's eyes glistened silver and Lilah paled dangerously, but didn't pass out. "A cup of your blood, your daughter's blood, and you will have everything from me you wish - _need_- "

Just then the door crashed open, splintering, but the damage was contained as Angel, his eyes purely white and followed by his harried earthly father, stood, his entire being radiating rage as he stepped into the room.

Eve, despite her Immortal status, took a step back, but Angel simply stood _staring_at her, completely silent.

"What the hell? Brother, you're - you're unconscious, the price for trying to save these peons over and over!" Eve snarled, but Angel completely ignored her words, stepping into the room, and standing between Lilah and Eve before speaking in that same otherworldly, bombastic voice as before.

"YOU DARE TAKE THE BLOOD OF AN INNOCENT TO FURTHER THE ENDS OF YOUR OWN SELFISHNESS?"

"IT IS NOT SELFISH," Eve returned, her own voice now matching his. "IT WAS A TRADE, ONE MADE OF A FREE WILL, AND - "

"IT IS NOT FREE WILL WHEN YOU THREATEN TO ACHIEVE WHAT YOU DESIRE, SISTER, AND YOU KNOW IT PERFECTLY WELL. I SHOULD SEND LINDSEY BACK TO THE HELL THAT SPAT HIM OUT."

"NO!" Eve screamed, sending both Lilah and Angel's father coursing toward the floor in agony where Lindsey already lay screaming, blood running from his ears and with no way to properly shield them.

"YOU TALK OF MERCY, YOU KNOW NOTHING OF IT. YOU DISGUST ME, SISTER, IN YOUR UTTERLY SELF-MINDED GOALS. WESLEY - ALREADY UNDER THE AEGIS OF OUR FATHERS THROUGH ME - WOULD HAVE HEALED LINDSEY ONCE HE FOUND THE SALVES AND SPELLS TO DO SO, BUT I'M REMOVING THAT DUTY FROM HIS ROSTER.

"LINDSEY WILL HAVE TO MARSHALL ALL OF HIS OWN POWER TO HEAL HIMSELF AND YOU HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT YOU. IF YOU WANT FASTER RESULTS, YOU WILL HAVE TO WORK FOR THEM, YOURSELF."

Eve went to scream again, but Angel - Thomas - held up a hand and her voice was instantly stifled. He stared once more, seemingly without sight, around at those human in the room, and gave another wave of his hand, repairing even Lindsey's ears since that wound had been incurred outside the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart's wrath.

After checking on Lilah's overall health, Thomas glared once more at his sister before disappearing again into the myriad that was his existence within Angel's body.

With his business finished, Angel promptly fainted, and Connor climbed gingerly up to kneel before his again comatose son, muttering rapidly in Irish. No one else understood him, but it didn't matter. Connor leaned forward and, as he'd seen his own son do, kissed Angel's brow. Angel's eyes fluttered, but he didn't awaken.

He did, however, begin to speak in a clearly Irish dialect, "I only wan'ed ter help, Da," he said now, prompting Connor to stroke his brow, which black runes were now beginning to appear across, and Connor tried fruitlessly wiping at them, but to no avail.

It wasn't evening, not now - what on Earth was Liam doing taking control so early? "Eve was goin'ta use Liliana's blood ter heal Lindsey an' that woulda cursed them both. She was actin' in selfishness an' fear an' I know what that's like, Da - Holtz did the same thin' ter my Connor out o' hatred an' vengeance. I 'ad ter stop 'er. A Faustian deal such as that..."

Connor, Sr., nodded, "The babe didna deserve ter live under such a fate, I know, Li. Ye did...ye did good, lad. Ye 'ave ter let Jethro out o' his sleep, son, it's goin' ter kill ye if'n ye don'."

"I won' die. I already died. But I canna' awaken either of us, not by meself," Liam replied simply, sadly, and Connor's face fell once more in dismay.

"Then why on the Lord's earth did ye do it, lad?" he asked desperately and Liam simply sighed.

"Ye woulda done it fer me, if ye coulda, would still. Wouldna ye have?"

This last question was asked with much less surety and Connor found his heart caving in once more, "O' course, Li. Without a though'. Jethro is yers as you are mine. Bu' what if yer stuck like that ferever?"

Liam took a deep breath and every voice of those inside him spoke alongside his own, "A worthy price to pay for my blood and my blood's blood. To keep them and their own safe."

For the first time, the aegis printed in Liam's skin came back to the surface and Connor gasped in shock, staring at all the names, including his own, and those of their family, mates, loves...everyone he now knew and many he did not, all over Liam's arms in his own handwriting.

"Dear Lord in Heaven," he whispered in wonderment, blessing himself, as well as Liam before stroking his disheveled hair.

"I saw me eldest," Liam said softly, his voice filled with bitter sadness. "I need ter tell Ziva an' Ari I am sorry. He hurt 'em so much...just ter get at me...he took me heart - ripped it right out o' me chest, bu' it wasn' enough...never enough..."

Ziva and Ari's names glowed blood red on Liam's arms before his deadened skin cracked and the names, themselves, began to bleed.

"Liam, stop! It wasn't yer fault!" Connor cried, but his plea landed on literally deaf ears as Angel's eyes turned pure white again and he began to seize once more.

Eve stepped up, her expression bored, but Connor turned and snarled at her, "Stay the hell away from my son!"

Without warning, Lilah found herself rising to her feet and as carefully as possible coming to sit down next to Angel's convulsing form, turning him on his side before she spoke to his astonished father, who didn't know whether to pull Angel further away or leave them be as she was pregnant and, as was constantly asserted, perfectly harmless.

"An eye for an eye," she said in what she probably hoped was a careless tone, but Connor could read the distress in her voice. Without another word, Lilah raked her fingers across her arm and brought forth five lines of blood, which began to congeal on the surface of her skinimmediately.

She took the hand she'd scratched herself with and, with her free hand, swept the blood onto the pad of her thumb before subsequently smearing it on Angel's shuddering forehead where it sank in, bringing his body almost instantly to a stop.

"That'll only work for about a day so whatever Wes and anybody else is doing, they better do it quickly."

With that, she slowly got to her feet again, ignoring Connor's attempt to help her, and went back to sit down and read, acting as though she'd done nothing.

Eve started to rave at the audacity of this - this _bitch_ helping _Angel_but not Lindsey, but Lindsey's hand on her arm stayed her hand and voice.

"What you were gonna have her do for me wasn't right and you good and well know it. The Senior Partners may have applauded it, but the Powers were gonna have your ass and that I won't allow, either. If Pryce helps me now, it'll be of his own free will, and even more than that - because she did the same for Angel.

"I know you don't care how your extended family works, but I've been watchin' as best as I can. Debts don't go unpaid around here and, even more than that, no good deed goes unpunished.

"You brought Lilah back to life, sure, but then you went and tried to barter a - hers and Pryce's baby's life for mine? You'll be lucky Pryce doesn't kill you - he's not just an amateur mage anymore, you know that as well as I do.

"I've been watchin' him, too, just like you. Cyvus Vail didn't completely die. His amassed magick - though now light - lives on in the father of the baby you just tried to curse. He'll have your guts for garters, don't nobody stop 'im."

Eve's breath hitched and Lindsey managed to turn his head enough so that he could look at the now peacefully sleeping Angel. "And the only one who could - the girl's probable godfather - can't do a damned thing for you right now, sweetheart. All I can do is hope you ain't back in the Deeper Well by mornin'. I don't exactly have decades to wait for you to come out again."

Eve backed away from Lindsey, then, her eyes widening in fear.

"Shit," Lindsey said abruptly, an unnatural silence now filling the house. "He's coming."

**...TBC...**


End file.
